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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743884">Sincerely Yours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceoddy/pseuds/spaceoddy'>spaceoddy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - The Breakfast Club Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Love, Recreational Drug Use, Sad Bill Denbrough, Slow Burn, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Teenage Losers Club (IT)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:22:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceoddy/pseuds/spaceoddy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They were seven losers, with nothing in common, stuck together in detention for an entire Saturday. Before the day was over, they broke the rules, bared their souls, and touched each other in a way they never dreamed possible. A Breakfast Club AU.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sincerely Yours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My baby!</p><p>I've had this idea in my head since last summer, but didn't find the motivation to start writing until Christmas break. I'm so anxious and excited to share my labor of love with everyone.</p><p>If you enjoy the story, I'd love it if you left me comments and kudos. After slaving over this story for six months, it would mean the world to me to hear from readers.</p><p><b>Trigger Warnings:</b> Recreational drug use, mentions of child abuse, mentions of racism, mentions of homophobic violence.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of the girls' bathroom next to the library is stained with cigarette smoke.</p><p>The initials <em> "HB" </em> are carved several times into the blue brick wall of the boys' locker room.</p><p>A dozen wads of bubblegum are stuck under the desk in the back right corner of Mr. Keene's biology classroom.</p><p>This is Derry High. Same shit, different day.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Saturday, March 24, 1989. Derry High School, Derry, Maine. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Mr. Gray, </em>
</p><p><em> We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong. </em> <em>What we did was wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. </em></p><p>
  <em> What do you care? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You see us as you want to see us — in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. </em><br/>
<em> You see us as a neurotic, a momma's boy, a new kid, a wallflower, an outsider, a trash mouth, and a slut. Correct? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That's the way we saw each other at eight o'clock this morning. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We were brainwashed. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Five teenagers file into the library, one at a time, between seven-fifty-five and eight o'clock. Two show up late.</p><p>The first to arrive is a boy with curly brown hair. His gray button-up, matching cardigan, and khaki pants paint him better suited for a cubicle inside a quiet office rather than a Saturday detention. Ironically, he's dressed <em>down</em> today. There are six medium-length tables set in two rows of three in front of the library's checkout desk. He claims the front right one.</p><p>Next, a petite boy with tiny freckles sprawled across his baby face scurries in. There's a light sheen of sweat around his hairline, likely due to him wearing an oversized winter coat and earmuffs on a mild, spring morning. He drops his square lunchbox on the front left table and shimmies out of his winter wear. Beneath the puffy coat is a pastel blue pullover two sizes too large. At least it's one less layer. He and the other boy exchange half-hearted nods of acknowledgment.  </p><p>At two minutes to eight, two boys walk in seconds apart.</p><p>One is short and round; his puffy cheeks seem permanently pigmented. So far, his clothes are the most <em>normal:</em> a long-sleeved red shirt and a sleeveless jean jacket. A pair of headphones rest around his neck, and a Walkman protrudes from his pocket. He sits at the middle right table.</p><p>The other is pale and gangly. His auburn hair is cut neatly and combed to one side, though his bangs stretch just above his eyebrows. His black and red plaid shirt dangles off his body, and the straps of his backpack threaten to slide down his shoulders. He squeezes the straps and approaches the front left table. He exchanges a look with the boy in the pastel blue pullover; there's an unspoken familiarity between them. He cocks his head towards the open seat, the tiny boy shrugs in a way that silently says <em> "have at it," </em> and so he sits.</p><p>The clock above the checkout desk strikes eight just as a boy with dark skin and a muscular build steps into the library. His faded tan t-shirt smells vaguely of dirt and animal food; his ripped jeans aren't in much better shape. At first, he attempts to walk with his head held high, but he abandons his integrity and hurries to the back left table. The eyes of the boys follow him to varying degrees of subtlety; he pretends not to notice.</p><p>Five minutes late, right on the dot, the life of the party strolls in. Shaggy hair, thick square-framed glasses, an unbuttoned, pink Hawaiian shirt... he's a living, breathing statement piece. His entrance is so precise, the others think he waited outside until such a time he considered fashionably late. And that's exactly what he did.</p><p>He obnoxiously stomps to the middle left table, singing <em> "We Built This City" </em> the whole way, and adjusts two chairs until they're the perfect distance apart. His ass falls into one, and his feet plop onto the other.</p><p>Blue Pullover Boy rolls his eyes.</p><p>The ominous steps of Principal Gray echo through the library, closing in like a predator on petrified prey until he's towering over them. He's a tall, gaunt man with long, thin limbs. Only a tuft of graying red hair sits on top of his head, and his pigment is sickly pale. Despite those unwelcoming characteristics, his most defining feature is an unsettling smile that stretches to the apples of his cheeks. Permanent lines etched on his skin perpetuate the illusion that he's <em>always</em> smiling. He's practically built to terrify kids.</p><p>"Well, well," he taps the tips of his fingers together. "Here we all are — wait." A bony finger bounces between the boys as Principal Gray quietly counts. "Seems we're one short."</p><p>They aren't for long.</p><p>A girl with short, tousled red hair and sunglasses covering half her face wanders in unbothered. Her black with white speckles dress reaches just beneath her thighs, and its v-neck stretches an inch above her cleavage; her combat boots don't really match the rest of her ensemble.</p><p>Without stopping, she casually slides a stapler off the front desk into her bag. The boys watch in awe, while Principal Gray's stare reveals his disdain. There's ample space for her to step around the principal on her journey to the back right table, but she leaves a gap wide enough to bump him with her bag as she passes.</p><p>"Ah, Miss Marsh, <em> delighted </em> you've decided to join us." She doesn't dignify the principal with a response; she drops her bag on the table and falls into a chair. "Great!" Principal Gray claps, startling a few of the boys who were on the brink of dozing off. "Now that everyone's here, detention officially begins. Unfortunately, Miss Marsh's tardiness has set you back," the principal checks the watch wrapped around his aged wrist, "fifteen minutes. You'll all be staying until four-fifteen today!"</p><p>Seven miserable moans fill the air simultaneously. Four Eyes shouts, "that's bullshit!" stirring Gray's temper.</p><p>"Watch your mouth, Mr. Tozier!" Gray snaps at Four Eyes, who raises his hands defensively and leans back into his seat.</p><p>Attention shifts to the tiny hand that shoots up in the air, fingers barely stretching past pastel blue sleeves. "Mr. Gray, I—uh think there's been a mistake." The boy's r's sound like w's, which has Four Eyes snickering behind him. "My mom spoke with you about dismissing me early. I have to pick up a prescription, and I can't—"</p><p>The boy's cut short when Principal Gray struts to his table; he sways his legs back and forth, almost like he's performing a little jive. The boy in the blue pullover shrinks as the principal looms over him ominously. "I'm sure you'll survive until four-fifteen, Mr. Kaspbrak." Gray pats the boy on the cheek before pulling away.</p><p>The interaction leaves a bad taste in everyone's mouths; Gray revels in their discomfort. "You'll have eight hours to reflect on your poor behavior this week. And you'll do just that by writing me an essay." Groans sit on the tips of the kids' tongues, but, this time, they swallow them. </p><p>Principal Gray struts down the aisle, dropping a stack of paper and pencils at each table. Four Eyes — or, Tozier — wastes no time flicking his pencil away as soon as Gray turns to deliver supplies to the overweight boy with the flushed cheeks. </p><p>"No less than a thousand words describing to me who exactly you think you are. And when I say essay," Principal Gray pauses to snicker, "I mean <em>essay</em>. No loopholes, no profanity repeated a thousand times. Got that, Mr. Tozier? Miss Marsh?" There's a slight jingle to the principal's tone, but a threat is hidden thinly beneath it.</p><p>"Sure thing," Tozier throws his thumb up sarcastically.</p><p>"Anything for you, Chuckles." Six heads spin to Marsh; she's picking at her nails with her feet on the table, looking like she couldn't care less. The boys are jealous of her apparent nonchalance.</p><p>Luckily, Gray ignores her.</p><p>"No talking," the principal glares at Kaspbrak and Tozier. "No moving," his eyes bounce between the overweight boy and the dark-skinned boy in the back. "And no sleeping!" he points a finger back at Marsh. "Any noise and we'll all have another playdate next Saturday. Understand?"</p><p>The delinquents mumble affirmation in succession, except for the curly-haired boy; he clears his throat and stands. "Sir," his voice cracks a little, "I just want to say I won't be any trouble today, because —"</p><p>"Sit down, Mr. Uris," Principal Gray barks.</p><p>The curly-haired boy — Uris — sits, mumbling a soft, "Sorry, sir."</p><p>"Now, any questions?"</p><p>The boys sit in silence twiddling their thumbs, hoping their submission will send the principal away. Of course, Marsh ignores the memo. Uris and Kaspbrak sigh when her hand swings up. "Yeah," she says, "I've got one." </p><p>Gray raises his pencil-thin eyebrows. "Spit it out."</p><p>She cracks a smile and giggles, unable to deliver her quip with a straight face. "Does Bozo the Clown know you raid his wardrobe?"</p><p>Uris's jaw drops. Tozier busts out laughing. Kaspbrak and the overweight boy hesitantly chortle as well. The lanky boy keeps his head aimed down at the table, and the dark-skinned boy sends Marsh a warning glance.</p><p>Principal Gray, a well-known fan of white blazers, red ties, and frilly sleeves, grouses to himself. His features tighten, and it seems a chip has cracked off his sadistically gleeful façade. He takes one step in Marsh's direction but collects himself. The anger in his face melts back into an eerie simper. "I'll have an answer for you next Saturday, Miss Marsh." </p><p>He pivots to make his exit; Marsh hollers, "can't wait!" after him. Gray's steps gradually grow fainter, transitioning from sliding along the carpet of the library to clicking against the tiles in the hallway. Once they can no longer hear his footsteps, the kids release the breaths they'd been holding.</p><p>For a while, an uneasy peace settles between them. Most of them find the quiet comforting after their extended exchange with Principal Gray. A few of them — Uris and the overweight boy — begin writing. Pencils scribbling and Marsh fiddling through her bag are the only sounds that fill the library for several minutes.</p><p>However, one of them <em>hates </em>silence. Tozier sits jittery in his seat, thumping his knee against the underside of his table, back to humming <em> "We Built This City," </em>as if he's the only one in the library. The others do their best to ignore him, but Kaspbrak cracks almost immediately. He twists to glare daggers at Tozier. "Can you shut up?"</p><p>"Why?" Tozier cocks his head and adjusts his glasses. The lenses magnify dark eyes sparked with newfound interest. "Am I annoying you?"</p><p>Kaspbrak huffs, "yes!"</p><p>"J-Just ignore him, E-Eddie," the lanky boy stutters.</p><p>"Oh! Your name's Eddie?" Tozier outstretches his hand, "nice to meet ya, Eds."  </p><p>Eddie swats Tozier's hand away. "Don't call me Eds!"</p><p>"Why not? I think it suits you."</p><p>"No, it doesn't!"</p><p>"Guys!" they swerve to Uris, whose patience is already wearing thin. "Mr. Gray said no talking, remember?"</p><p>"Don't be a stickler, Stanley," Tozier jumps out of his seat and paces around, "we aren't in a fucking synagogue." </p><p>Stan wrinkles his nose and sets his pencil down perfectly parallel to his notebook paper. "I know, <em> Richard</em>," Stan sits smugly as the use of his full name makes Tozier sneer. "But I'm not getting stuck here next week because you don't know how to shut up."</p><p>Tozier's about to drop another wisecrack, but he's cut off when the overweight boy clears his throat. "I'm Ben," he says. He smiles softly in hopes of restoring peace. The bickering boys glance at him, their expressions wondering, <em>"who asked you?" </em>Ben gets the hint and chews on his bottom lip. His gentle eyes jump to everyone who hasn't been introduced. He starts with the stuttering boy sitting next to Eddie. "You're William Denbrough, but you like being called Bill."</p><p>Bill leans back, curious how Ben, someone he's never spoken to, knows his name. Ben's ready to enlighten him, but Richie ahems. "Better known as Stuttering Bill!" He twirls his hand and holds out his palm towards Bill. Bill grinds his teeth but says nothing. </p><p>Ben shifts to the boy in the back. "You're Mike Hanlon." Mike offers Ben a half-nod, happy to be acknowledged.</p><p>"And you're..." Ben spins to Marsh but falls silent as she lowers her sunglasses and flashes her crystal blue eyes. Ben's cheeks flush scarlet. "Uh..."</p><p>"No need, Lardo," Tozier says matter-of-factly. "Molly Ringwald needs no introduction." She flips Tozier off, but her aura is playful. He clutches his chest and throws his head back as if he's been shot through the heart. "You're killing me, fire crotch."</p><p>She ignores him and turns to Ben with a warm curve of her lips. "I'm Beverly."</p><p>Ben's mouth hangs open; after a second, he mumbles, "I know," but he thinks no one hears as Stan clears his throat at the same time.</p><p>"Okay great," Stan says. "We're all on a first name basis, so how about everyone shuts up?"</p><p>"Uh-huh, yeah, one second," Tozier holds up a finger and descends on Eddie. "So your name's really Eddie?"</p><p>Eddie folds his arms over his chest, face twisting in anger. "That's what I said."</p><p>"Wow..." Tozier tsks in disappointment. "You think with a name like Edward you'd pick a better nickname. Oh!" He snaps his fingers as if a lightbulb went off in his head. "How about Eds?"</p><p>"Shut up!"</p><p>"C-Calm down," Bill pats Eddie's back.</p><p>Bill's reassurance subdues Eddie's rage; the pressure in his muscles relaxes, and he swings back around.</p><p>The peace Stan asked for settles in, sort of. Tozier returns to his seat but keeps up his effort to make as much noise as possible. He begins crumbling up the paper Gray left into large balls. He tosses them one by one over Eddie's head, each of them falling to the floor at Eddie's feet. It only takes a second for Tozier to run out; with a mischievous smirk, he leans forward, mere inches from Eddie's ear, and whispers, "Hey, Eddie Spaghetti, can you grab my balls?"</p><p>Eddie's nails dig into his sweater, and this time it's Bill who faces Tozier.</p><p>"W-why don't you just leave him a-alone?"</p><p>"It's so sweet of you to stand up for him," Tozier leans his weight back into his seat, its two front legs hovering above the floor. "What are you guys? Boyfriends or something?" Bill and Eddie grimace; for a fleeting instant, Richie frowns.</p><p>"Richie cut it out," Beverly interjects. Bill meets her eyes, and she offers him a sympathetic shrug.</p><p>"He's just doing it t-to get a r-rise out of us," Bill tells Eddie. "All he wants is a-attention." Bill speaks with confidence that implies expertise on the matter. "D-Don't give it to him and he'll fuck o-off."</p><p>"Like that'll be hard," Eddie scoffs.</p><p>Richie wiggles his brows and adjusts his glasses. "Eds." Reluctantly, Eddie looks over his shoulder, two frown lines prominently cut into the baby fat of his cheeks. "You couldn't ignore me if you tried," Richie winks.</p><p>"Watch me." Eddie settles into his seat and stares at the wall.      </p><p>With a toothy grin, Richie accepts the challenge. The legs of his chair fall back to the ground as he leans forward; this time, his head sneaks in between Bill and Eddie. "Really, I'm just curious," he says. "This is a safe place; I won't tell anyone you feel each other up after school every day."</p><p>Both boys resist the temptation to retort, but Eddie's face starts to color pink. Their lack of a response is somehow enough to egg Richie on. "Be honest with me, Billy," Richie sticks out his lower lip, "you slip Eds the hot beef injection?"</p><p>Eddie explodes. "Go to hell!"</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>Everyone freezes; they notice Gray poking his head into the library. He's smiling like a psychopath, happy to see them tearing each other apart so early in the day.</p><p>Richie leans back and sits straight; no one dares speak until Gray returns to his office just down the hall. This time, his absence doesn't ease anyone's nerves; they begin to believe their principal is omnipresent.</p><p>"Alright guys, enough," Mike says. His voice sounds foreign, even to his own ears; the looks on their faces show Mike the others are just as surprised to hear him talk.</p><p>"Ah, so he speaks," Beverly smiles.</p><p>Mike drops his eyes to the sentences he's scribbled onto his paper; it's obvious he's scared to meet everyone's stares. If he looked up, maybe he would've noticed Ben's offering him sympathy. It's too bad he doesn't. Still, he manages to push a few more words out. "Clearly, we all don't get along. How about we keep quiet and work on our papers?"</p><p>"Thank you!" Stan slow claps.</p><p>"Okay fine," Beverly says. "But first," she drops her bag into the empty chair and sits on her table, "I think we could use a little privacy. We can't have any fun with Gray peeping in every two seconds." For a moment, the boys don't reply; their minds race wildly to interpret what <em> Beverly Marsh </em>means by fun. Everyone, save for Ben, ends up at the same place.  </p><p>"B-But the d-door's supposed to s-stay open," Bill frowns.</p><p>"Yeah?" Richie chimes in vindictively. "So what?"</p><p>"So why don't you both shut up?" Stan bites. "There are five other people in here, you know."</p><p>"Wow, you can count." Sarcasm drips off Richie's lips as he hops out of his seat again. "See, I knew you Jews were pretty smart."</p><p>"The hell are you to judge anybody?" Stan counters; his defenses rise. "You're not good for anything except pissing people off. If you disappeared forever, we'd all be better off. You might as well not even exist at this school."</p><p>"Really," Eddie chuckles with a histrionic nod.</p><p>Richie's features crack and his playful smirk freefalls; his jaw tightens and he bites his lip.</p><p>"Well!" Richie rubs his hands together; his lips curl upward again like he never missed a beat. "Maybe I'll start contributing!" Beverly senses hurt masked behind Richie's lighthearted cynicism. "How about I join your physics club, Stanley? Or the mathletes? Oh, better yet!" Richie approaches Eddie and pats him on the shoulder. "Room for one more on your debate team, Eds?"</p><p>Eddie and Stan exchange haughty chortles. "Nobody would take you," Eddie says crassly. He gestures over his shoulder at Beverly. "Either of you."</p><p>"Oooh, we're crushed," Richie fakes a sob. "Right Bev?"</p><p>Now it's Beverly's turn to laugh. "Clubs aren't my thing anyway," she says.</p><p>"You two are just afraid," Stan fires back.</p><p>Richie starts to shake his head, but he's caught off guard when Beverly leans in, eager to hear more. "This should be stunning," she muses.</p><p>"You act obnoxious because you're scared nobody wants you," Stan says. "You shit on everyone because you want to reject them before they get the chance to reject you. You're cowards."</p><p>"I'm joining the poetry club," Ben tries to sneak into the conversation. He's ignored.</p><p>"What a stunning analysis, Stanley," Richie folds his arms over his chest and leans against the checkout desk. He clicks his tongue several times. "Guess it's all on me and Bev. It's got nothing to do with people like you and Eds being assholes."</p><p>"We aren't assholes," Stan retorts. "But you wouldn't know. You don't bother to get to know any of us; you just want to start shit."</p><p>"The art club too," Ben says meekly.</p><p>Richie's gaze leaves Stan and Eddie in favor of Ben; Beverly follows along. "What are you babbling about, Doughboy?" Richie asks.</p><p>The initial excitement Ben had felt upon being included fades in the aftershock of Richie's comment. Disappointment paints his face. "I, uh, just said I'm joining the poetry club," he rubs the back of his neck, realizing how stupid he'd sounded in real-time. "And...the art club."</p><p>"Oh okay," Richie nods several times. Richie turns back to Stan, leaving Ben in the social dust. "Hey, Stanny." Stan narrows his eyes at Richie. "Do you belong to the poetry club?" </p><p>Stan sneers. "That's not an academic club."</p><p>"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Beverly challenges Stan.</p><p>Stan feels six pairs of eyes on him; to make things worse, he knows they're all judging him. Even Eddie, whom Stan assumed was on his side. With an exasperated exhale, Stan shrugs. "I don't know...academic clubs aren't the same as <em> social </em> clubs." </p><p>There's no masking the innate air of superiority in his voice. Ben's face is crestfallen; Beverly leans forward to rub his back. Richie and Eddie exchange glances — their first time without hostility — before Eddie breaks eye contact. Bill shakes his head at Stan, and, from the back of the room, Mike says, "that's kind of fucked up, man." </p><p>Lucky for Stan, the heat fades off him. </p><p>Beverly, bored of this conversation, hops up and makes her way for the door. Most of the boys watch her anxiously, but Richie grins like an idiot and follows on the heels of her combat boots.  They begin fiddling with the deadbolt on the door, whispering things the rest can't pick up.</p><p>"Quit s-screwing around!" Bill says.</p><p>"You're going to get us in trouble," Stan moans.</p><p>"Hey boys, have you finished your papers?" Richie mimics the singsong tone of their principal. He even imitates Gray's jive, poorly of course.</p><p>Bill and Stan groan. Despite his earlier reservations, Mike chuckles under his breath. Ben leans forward to watch Beverly and Richie over the tables obstructing his view. "What are they doing?" he asks curiously.  </p><p>"Dropping dead, I hope," Eddie grumbles.</p><p>A few seconds pass, then Beverly and Richie accomplish their goal. Beverly pulls a screw from the bolt and the door slams shut with a thunderous clap that has all seven of them recoiling. The troublemakers giggle like little kids as they sprint back to their respective tables.</p><p>"Great, guys," Stan deadpans. "Now we're all fucked. Thanks."</p><p>"Oh lighten up, Stan the man," Richie leans across the aisle to playfully pound Stan's shoulder with his knuckles. Stan inches away.</p><p>"P-Put it b-back," Bill pleads with Beverly. "P-Please."</p><p>Ben shifts in his chair to catch Beverly's response. She licks her teeth; her grin is far less grating than Richie's, but it matches his mischievous edge. "It'll be fine; what's the worst that can happen?" Beverly's vague reassurance manages to quell Ben's nerves, but not Bill's.</p><p>"T-This isn't funny." Eddie and Stan nod in agreement.</p><p>"I think it's funny," Richie cradles his head in his hands and leans back in his seat.</p><p>"Your sense of humor is s-shit," Bill mumbles under his breath. Richie pretends he didn't hear it.</p><p>Mike stands. "Maybe I can fix it?"</p><p>"Not without that screw," Ben explains. "It keeps the deadbolt in place. Derry High's full of outdated doors like that..." He's on the brink of a tangent but notices he hasn't earned anyone's ears. Ben's learned from before; he shuts up and lays his head on his forearms.</p><p>"So put it back!" Stan demands.</p><p>Mike's eyes bounce around the library as his senses try to zero in on something. "Guys..."</p><p>"Don't be a baby, Stan," Beverly sniggers.</p><p>"This is so fucking dumb," Eddie says.</p><p>"Guys!" Mike raises his voice, demanding their attention. "Gray's coming."</p><p>All seven fall into their seats and sit straight as arrows just as the library door swings open. Principal Gray charges towards them with gusto, but his trademark smirk is artificial, a telltale sign of his displeasure. His head sweeps the tables as he contemplates who to pounce on first. He quickly identifies two he believes will crack under his interrogation. Eddie noticeably fidgets and Stan looks down at his paper; everyone else manages a decent poker face. Despite their efforts, there are varying degrees of fear surging through the boys' veins.</p><p>Meanwhile, Beverly sits with the same expression she's worn all morning.</p><p>"Well," Gray clears his throat; somehow, even that sounds ominous. "Who'd like to tell me why that door is closed?" Seven pairs of lips seal tight; a beat of uncomfortable silence passes. Gray chews on his plump lower lip and roars, "huh?!" like a hungry animal; the boys jump.</p><p>Beverly is the only one brave enough to speak up. "Why would we know?" she plays coy. "Pretty sure you told us not to move."</p><p>Principal Gray surveys the delinquents; his gaze circles around the library like a shark's fin protruding from murky ocean water. Eddie begins to breathe heavily; his shaky hand reaches under his sweater and unzips the fanny pack around his waist. He grabs an inhaler and it's halfway to his mouth when Gray makes his calculated strike. "Why?" he shouts at Eddie.</p><p>The outburst startles Eddie; his inhaler tumbles out of his hands onto the table, but he's frozen in place, too afraid to reach for it with the principal looming over him. Richie's watching the back of Eddie's head closely.  "We," Eddie wheezes—</p><p>"Were just sitting here!" Richie cuts in; he bravely looks Gray in the eye. With the pressure off him, Eddie grabs his inhaler and sprays the medicine into his mouth. "Nobody budged an inch; cross my heart." Richie mimes an x over his chest.</p><p>Gray remains unconvinced. His neck cracks as his head whips to the rest of the group. "Who closed that door?"</p><p>"It just shut, sir," Stan mumbles. Beverly and Richie smirk.</p><p>"Think there could be a screw loose?" Beverly snickers.</p><p>"Oh yeah!" Ben nods enthusiastically. "Doors like that are prone to those kinds of problems."</p><p>Gray doesn't acknowledge Ben. He steps down the aisle, stops at Beverly's table, and holds out his hand. "Give me the screw, Miss Marsh."</p><p>"I don't have it."</p><p>"I bet I'll find it in that bag of yours." </p><p>The principal reaches for the bag, but Stan distracts him by clearing his throat. "Excuse me, sir?" Gray blurs around, and, from the corner of his eye, Stan watches Beverly toss the screw to Richie, who quickly shoves it into his pocket. "Why would anyone want to steal a screw?"</p><p>"S-Screws fall out all t-the time, s-sir," Bill stutters through his quip. "The w-world's an imperfect p-place." Stan nods along.</p><p>"Alright, fine!" Gray pivots to the door, and they all feel the fleeting relief of the weight of his sinister eyes off their shoulders. Gray holds the door open with his foot and grabs a folding chair to place between the door and the wall.</p><p>"The door's way too heavy, sir!" Beverly says.</p><p>He doesn't listen. Once the chair is in place, he steps back with a smug smirk; the door immediately slams shut, which flings the folding chair across the floor. They hear the principal shout on the other side of the door, and they laugh.</p><p>The door flies open and Gray scans the library; an idea pops into his head and he starts snapping his crackly fingers. "Michael Hanlon! Over here!" Mike reluctantly stands.</p><p>"Hey, how come Mike gets to get up?" Richie shouts. He looks like a kicked puppy when everyone ignores him. Determined to earn a reaction, Richie pounds his hands on the table. "If he gets up, we'll all get up!" Richie hops onto his chair and throws his arms up. "It'll be fucking anarchy!"</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, Richie," Eddie hisses.</p><p>Seemingly content, Richie falls back into his seat with a smirk.</p><p>As Mike approaches, Gray points to the magazine stand next to the front desk, says, "c'mon, get this," and waves his hand. </p><p>Mike lifts the stand with relative ease. He lowers it into the threshold, wedging it between the door and the wall; its weight is enough to hold the door open, which satisfies Principal Gray...until Mike steps around the magazine stand to get back into the library. He's too tall, wide — thick, Richie might say — and his foot slips into one of the divets, trapping him in place. Magazines sprawl across the floor as Mike kicks his foot free.</p><p>Everyone gibes, save for Ben.</p><p>Beverly taps her foot with a petty fire in her eyes; she refuses to let her hard work go to waste. "That's very clever sir, but what if there's a fire?" Gray sends her a pointed scowl, angry that she's essentially declared checkmate. "I know you'd get off on it, but endangering the lives of children wouldn't be great for your <em> glowing </em> reputation, now would it?"</p><p>"Alright, fine," Gray sighs. Once Mike is free from the clutches of the magazine stand, the principal barks at him to carry the stand back to its original spot. Once the stand is back in its place, Gray shoos Mike away.</p><p>Mike makes a beeline back to his table under the principal's soulless disdain. "What a shame," Gray tsks. "We should all know better to expect anything from a Hanlon." Mike folds his arms over the table and buries his face in them. His plans dashed, Gray redirects his anger back on Beverly. "Stop wasting my time and give me that screw, or else."</p><p>Beverly doesn't flinch. "Or else what?"</p><p>A wave of anger hotter than any of them have ever seen exudes off their principal. Beverly appears unfazed, though she subtly tightens her grip on the side of her chair. Principal Gray stomps towards her, but Beverly sits bravely under his intimidation. "You want to play games?" he sneers. Beverly raises her eyebrows. "Fine! How about we add another Saturday to your lineup?" </p><p>Beverly rolls her eyes. "God, I'm crushed."</p><p>"Another right there!" Gray hunches over her.</p><p>"Well, I'm free the Saturday after that," Beverly rises; they're hovering in a full face-off now. She lifts her hand and pretends to inspect her nails. "Beyond that, I need to check my calendar."</p><p>"Clear it!" Gray exclaims. "We can do this <em>every day</em> after school. How would you like that? Instead of going home to your daddy, you'll come here!"</p><p>Heat rises on Beverly's pale cheeks, staining them red; she loses their blinking contest. Her jaw visibly tightens, and her eyes appear heavy. Gray revels in striking a nerve; his dried, cranberry lips curve upwards into his insidious smirk. Beverly falls back into her seat. </p><p>A beat of silence passes, and then Gray clears his throat. "Finished?"</p><p>It takes a moment, but Beverly's head trails up. Her features shake, but her blood is boiling. Through gritted teeth, she spits: "Not. Even. Close."</p><p>"Good!" Gray yells. "I'll keep you here all summer, do the whole town a favor."</p><p>"Go ahead!"</p><p>"Cut it out!" Ben's shout pierces their fierce duel. Beverly's stare rips from Gray to meet Ben's desperate expression. Her rage temporarily melts as Ben pleadingly mouths, <em>"stop."</em></p><p>"You should listen to fat boy," Gray jerks a thumb towards Ben.</p><p>"Hey, fuck off him!" Beverly yells.</p><p>"Another detention!"</p><p>Beverly's eyes narrow into tiny slits. "You really think I'm scared of you?"</p><p>Gray's face scrunches. "That's exactly what you want these boys to think, huh?" Beverly looks around and finds the boys watching with bated breath; suddenly, she feels small. "Cool, <em>loose</em> Beverly Marsh." Gray lets out a haughty scoff. "Such a waste of a pretty face." Beverly says nothing. "You're not afraid of me now, but you will be." Gray chuckles. "You will be." His words send shivers down the kids' spines.</p><p>Believing he's won this battle, Principal Gray turns and strolls towards the door. His walk casually evolves back into his giddy strut, as if the brutal challenge to his authority holds no effect on him. Before pushing through the door, he stops and turns back towards the kids. "Remember," his singsong tone resurfaces, "if I hear any noise, I'm cracking skulls."</p><p>No one notices Richie mocking the threat with an obnoxious grimace.</p><p>Principal Gray steps out of the door, and, just as it clicks shut, Beverly's scream vibrates off the walls. "<em>FUCK YOU!</em>"</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>By eight-forty-one, everyone succumbs to their boredom.</p><p>Mike's table is lopsided, allowing him to set his pencil at the edge and watch it roll down into his palm. He finds a rhythm in the remedial process, and the sound forms an odd harmony alongside Beverly's flickering lighter.</p><p>She runs her thumb over the flint wheel and watches the thin flame spark; she pulls her thumb away, and the fire vanishes.</p><p>Rinse and repeat.</p><p>At one point, Beverly pulls out a pack of cigarettes; she nearly lights one, but Eddie's death glare intimidates her into hiding them away.</p><p>Speaking of Eddie, he sits in a daze. Unconsciously, he whistles the tune to <em>"We Built This City" </em>into his fist until he remembers how the song ended up in his head. He crosses his arms tightly and pretends he doesn't know Richie is reveling in his frustration.</p><p>Bill folds a piece of paper into a football; he lines up his shot and flicks it forward. The paper football flies over the librarian's desk and hits the back of her chair. Bill pantomimes cheering. He peers around in pride, searching for someone who isn't here. Instead, Bill finds Richie; they stare at each other blankly, then Bill turns away just as Richie risks a friendly smile.   </p><p>Ben waited nearly thirty minutes after Principal Gray left to pull out his Walkman, and he's been playing music with the volume a decibel above mute. Every few minutes, his gaze shifts around, fearing everyone is eavesdropping. The paranoia resides only in his head as the six proceed about their boring business. Beverly is an exception. Grinning, she leans forward in an effort to get a better listen, but Ben fidgets away. </p><p>One by one, they doze off.</p><p>Richie falls asleep first. Everyone hears his snoring as his head smacks the table; his cheek smushes against the surface and the pressure pushes his glasses half off his face. His frames were crooked already, a sign that he's not one to care for his glasses anyway. A puddle of drool forms around his chin and drips off the side of his table.</p><p>Next to bite the dust is Eddie. He makes the mistake of resting his chin in his palm and yawns once. Then twice. His eyes fight to stay open, but, slowly, they fall in defeat. His elbow slides across the table, eventually giving out and letting his head drop gently onto the surface. He doesn't jolt up; instead, he begins mumbling nonsense about Bob Ross in his sleep.</p><p>Mike crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling. He watches the fan spin and gradually builds an immunity to the fluorescent lights assaulting his eyes. The monotony of the fan soothes him, and he drifts off to sleep, though he'll be stuck with a crick in his neck later.</p><p>Beverly fashions an impromptu pillow out of her bag and rests her head. Ben shimmies off his jacket and copies her. They pass out together. </p><p>Stan and Bill are the only ones left awake, but they don't talk. Bill stifles a yawn and busies himself by folding another piece of paper. Stan expects another football, but this project is more ambitious, and he can't help watching from the corner of his eye. A few minutes pass, and Bill's finished constructing a paper boat, a pretty impressive one at that. It's folded perfectly, made with unmistakable love and care. He takes a pencil and scribbles something along the side of the boat. Stan has to lean forward to read the inscription, <em>SS Georgie</em>.</p><p>As Bill leans down to place the paper boat in his backpack, Stan snaps his eyes back to his essay. His ears catch another yawn from Bill, and it isn't long before his sleepy breaths join the others.</p><p>Now the last man standing, Stan sighs and knits his brows. He hardly has 100 words of his essay written. Maybe, if everyone else behaved, he'd have more progress. His irritation redirects inward. They aren't responsible for his failure or his laziness. Part of being a man is accepting responsibility, even for the things he hasn't done. Or so he's been told.</p><p>He huffs. Someone — he doesn't care who — yawns in their sleep. It's contagious. Stan feels his eyes begin to droop. He peeks at the clock and curses under his breath. Over seven hours to go, and he rationalizes his fatigue with the fact that he'll have plenty of time to finish this essay. What could one nap hurt? He'll rest his eyes for ten minutes, he swears.</p><p>Stan neatly shifts his paper and supplies to the right, refusing to drool on them like some of his sloppier peers — Richie and Eddie. Then, he rests his head in his hands and finally lets his eyes flutter shut.</p><p>Everyone is officially asleep.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>At nine-eighteen, Principal Gray is standing in front of the tables, hands on his hips, and tapping his foot angrily. "Wake up!" he barks.</p><p>Nobody moves. The principal sighs. "Who needs to use the lavatory?"</p><p>Seven hands shoot up in unison.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The boys' bathroom has only three urinals and one stall. The six boys race down the hall, shoving around each other in an effort to claim first dibs. Mike and Ben concede, allowing Richie, Bill, and Stan to go first; Eddie pushes past them and disappears into the handicapped stall.</p><p>The silence in the bathroom is expected, yet...unbearable. Once the lock of the stall door clicks, Richie can't resist. "What's wrong, Eds? Too shy?"</p><p>"Don't call me Eds!" Eddie's voice echoes over the stall's wall. Several tears of toilet paper can be heard, a giveaway that Eddie is covering the seat. </p><p>That, along with the way Eddie dodged Richie's question, proves damning. "Really, what's the deal?" Richie presses. "You pee sitting down?"</p><p>A beat of silence. "No..."</p><p>Richie snickers and beams when he hears Mike and Stan chuckling as well. Bill shakes his head. "Ease up, R-Richie."</p><p>"Piss on my parade, why don't you?" Richie mumbles though he drops the subject. Not out of mercy for Eddie, but because his mind finds itself otherwise occupied.</p><p>As he, Bill, and Stan piss, Richie's eyes wander. He's using the left urinal, Stan's in the middle, and Bill's at the right, closest to the stall. Richie's stare trails downward, led by a shameful pull of gravity, to between Stan's legs. Unfortunately, Stan's positioned with the utmost precision, concealing every intimate inch of himself. Richie takes it as a sign to stop being a fucking creep, and he faces forward.</p><p>He stays that way... though not permanently.   </p><p>The urge overwhelms him again, and Richie risks glancing right, past Stan, towards Bill. Bill isn't as meticulous as Stan, and Richie's catches a glimpse of what Bill's packing. Suddenly, there's a lump in Richie's throat, and swallowing it produces a traitorous gulp that reverberates off the bathroom walls.</p><p>"W-what are you looking at?"</p><p>Richie's heart drops into his stomach. Nausea stirs, torching his insides. He rips away from Bill's crotch and discovers he and Stan have caught him red-handed. Mike and Ben pause their quiet chat by the sinks. Richie feels judged; he doesn't stop to wonder if he's projecting.</p><p>"What's going on?" Eddie calls over the stall.</p><p>For the first time in his life, Richie wishes he were invisible.</p><p>Bill watches the color drain from Richie's face. Their eyes meet, and Richie subtly shakes his head and mouths <em>"please." </em>Bill doesn't understand, yet he does at the same time. He realizes he has a crucial decision on his hands and only a fleeting second to make up his mind.</p><p>Embarrassing Richie, especially in front of Eddie, would definitely shut him up for the rest of the day; the peace resulting from Richie's shame would be much appreciated. It tempts him into believing it would settle their score. But the desperation on Richie's face plays on the strings of his conscience, and Bill feels guilty for even considering it.</p><p>He asks himself what if it were him? What if it were someone he cares about? Well...</p><p>Bill mumbles, "n-nothing. We're just f-fucking around."</p><p>Eddie doesn't press the issue, and Ben and Mike return to their conversation. Richie doesn't look at him or say anything, but Bill notices the tension drops from his shoulders. He interprets that as thanks. Surprisingly, the one who catches his eye is Stan. They share a silent exchange; as they flush their urinals and step aside for Mike and Ben, Bill is left wondering what he should have taken away from it.</p><p>Or maybe he doesn't.</p><p>Maybe he knows well enough.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>After their business is finished, the boys are forced to linger outside the bathrooms. One of Principal Gray's conditions for their bathroom break had been chaperoning Beverly. No one blames him; they're sure she'll make a run for it if anyone lowers their guard. Richie jests about letting her go free; Mike argues that they'd receive the brunt of the punishment.</p><p>And so they wait.</p><p>Initially, none of them mind Beverly dragging her feet. Even the dull hallway is a breath of fresh air compared to their makeshift prison in the library. However, the relief fades fast. Five minutes pass, and there's no sign of Beverly. Their sense of faux freedom evaporates. Eddie and Stan begin tapping their feet, and no one can get a word in edgewise over the bad jokes Richie is cracking to fill the air.</p><p>Gradually, the faint stench of cigarette smoke seeps from the cracks of the bathroom door and up the boys' noses. Eddie pinches his nostrils. "Fuck!" he shrieks. "Is she really smoking right now? Like really?"</p><p>Richie leans down and pokes Eddie's shoulder with his elbow. "You know how it goes, Eds," he sighs. "Birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim, Beaverly's gotta smoke and hand out handies." Judging by the boys' expressions, the joke falls flat. Richie shrugs, "eh. I just wish she'd offer me one."</p><p>"A cigarette or a handjob?" Eddie teases.</p><p>Richie snaps his fingers. "Yes!"</p><p>"You're disgusting," Eddie sticks out his tongue, but the fit of giggles that follow lights up Richie's face. He adjusts his glasses while his smile reaches the faint crinkles around his eyes.</p><p>Neither of them says anything to the others. They turn on their heels and head back towards the library, Richie mumbling jokes that continue to elicit laughs from Eddie the whole way. They leave the others puzzled in their dust. "So..." Mike scratches his head, "they're friends now?"</p><p>Stan shakes his head. "Give it five minutes."</p><p>Sixty more seconds tick by, whittling the remnants of Stan and Mike's patience. At their wits' end, they start down the hall, Mike muttering something about Beverly having gotten them in enough trouble already; Stan says he'll drink to that.</p><p>Ben and Bill are left alone. Bill sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels; Ben twiddles his thumbs and glances up at the ceiling. Whenever an abnormal sound hits their ears, they both turn to the bathroom hoping they'll find Beverly emerging. The scent of smoke is still fresh, providing them with an estimate of how long they'll be kept up.</p><p>The silence eats away at Bill. Deciding to break it, he rubs the back of his neck. "H-hey?" Ben looks around, convinced Bill is talking to someone else. When he remembers they're alone, Ben raises his eyebrows and mumbles a hmm. "Earlier, how did you k-know all our n-names?"</p><p>"Oh," Ben attempts to pick his words carefully. "I guess because I have classes with all of you."</p><p>That's curious. Bill rattles his brain; if they're in a class together, he should know him. Derry High's anything but big, and Bill may be a loser, but he still knows plenty of people...for better or worse. Despite his efforts, Bill draws a blank, and guilt steals the color from his face. Ben senses it and tries not to seem too hurt. "We have English together," he clarifies. Bill's lips circle into a tiny <em>o</em>. "And trig." Even worse.</p><p>Bill opens his mouth to apologize, but Ben cuts him off. "I have PE with Eddie, but he always sits out. Richie's in our English class too." Bill nods; it's impossible to miss Richie. "Stan was in my econ class last semester, Mike's in my homeroom and..." Ben sneaks a peek at the girls' bathroom, "Beverly is in my sosh class."</p><p>Bill wonders how he could have gone the entire year without noticing Ben. He seems nice, maybe even someone he'd be friends with. If he had friends, that is. "S-Sorry," Bill says. "That's shitty of u-us." Losers should stick together, he thinks; that would help them feel less like losers.</p><p>Ben shrugs. "It's fine." Ben's thin lips tighten, proof that he's lying. "No one notices the new kid. Except..."</p><p>"B-Bowers?" Bill guesses. Ben nods.</p><p>"He tortures everyone though, huh?" Ben forces an uneasy exhale. "But I bet he'll leave you alone now." Bill struggles to maintain eye contact. "I wanted to tell you I thought it was pretty cool what you did. I just wasn't sure how to—"</p><p>"C-Could you w-wait for B-Beverly?" Bill interrupts, pushing the words out as fast as his stutter allows. Stuttering Bill strikes again.</p><p>Ben's face falls. "Yeah, sure, I can wait." Eager to avoid further conversation, Bill thanks Ben and practically sprints back to the library.</p><p>Alone, Ben sighs and kicks his foot back and forth at a nonexistent stone. He surveys the hall and perks up when there's no sign of Principal Gray. He lifts his headphones around his ears, pulls out his Walkman, and hits play. Music never fails to make him feel less lonely.</p><p>He hums along to <em>"You Got It"</em> in peace until someone lifts the headphones off his ears. Ben panics and whips around, expecting Principal Gray to be towering in his personal space. Instead, he finds Beverly holding his headphones with a grin.</p><p>"Jamming in detention?" she asks playfully. Ben stifles a cough as the potent scent of nicotine creeps up his nose. "That's badass." She winks.</p><p>Ben beams. "Yeah, I just really like music," he replies. God, that sounded dumb. Beverly surprises him by laughing.</p><p>"What'cha been listening to?" Ben tries to snatch the headphones from her hand, but she holds them just out of reach. He watches helplessly as Beverly places them over her ears. Her once meager grin consumes her entire face. "New Kids On The Block?"</p><p>"I don't even like them!" Ben takes a step back and stares down at his feet.</p><p>Beverly chuckles and hands Ben his headphones. "I'm just messing with you. Hang tough, new kid on the block. Who gives a fuck what other people think?" She hums <em>"You Got It"</em> to herself as she starts down the hall; Ben snorts nervously.</p><p>He watches her before an idea pops in his head. "Please don't go, girl!" he calls after her. She turns over her shoulder; she raises her eyebrows and laughs in a way that merrily asks <em>'seriously?'</em> Ben's never seen a more beautiful girl. "T-that's the name of another New Kids On The Block..."</p><p>"C'mon, Ben from Sosh," she cocks her head, "let's get back before I get my sixty-ninth detention."</p><p>Ben dashes after her; it doesn't register to him that Beverly has already <em>seen</em> him.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>It's ten-twenty-three, and they've fallen off the <em>"sit still and stay silent!"</em> wagon.</p><p>Richie strolled around the library collecting a stack of books without rhyme or reason. Now, he sits on the railing of the staircase leading up to the library's second floor. The pile of books rests on the step below him, and, one by one, Richie picks them up and reads from them in a snotty British accent, then tears them apart. Clearing his throat to an exaggerated degree, he recites, "Writing is like prostitution. First, you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money." He scoffs, rips the page out, and tosses it over the railing.</p><p>"That's real intelligent," Stan says.</p><p>"And your British accent sucks," Eddie adds. Richie furrows his brow and watches Eddie bite his lower lip to stifle a chuckle.</p><p>Beverly slides off her table and scoops up the ripped pages. "You know," she smirks, "it's wrong to destroy literature."</p><p>Richie shrugs and rips out another page as if he's trying to prove a point. "I can't help it if Mo-lay doesn't pump my nads."</p><p>"It's M-M-M..." Everyone waits for Bill to power through his stutter, but the name never comes out.</p><p>"Molière," Stan says. Bill turns to him, and Stan smiles softly.</p><p>"Oh yeah, I love his work!" Ben beams.</p><p>Richie tosses the spine of the book at Ben but misses. Eddie lets a laugh slip out that sounds like a deflating whoopie cushion.</p><p>The amputated cover of <em>Dorian Gray</em> lands on Bill and Eddie's table. Bill pushes it onto the floor. "S-So," he says to Eddie. "M-My parents are going o-out tonight. Y-You wanna come o-over?" Richie frowns; he leans in to eavesdrop. </p><p>"Oh yeah, sure," Eddie replies sarcastically. "My mom says I'm grounded 'til I'm fifty. I bet she'll use this as an excuse to keep me from going to regionals for debate too. She's so ridiculous." Eddie waves his hand around, consumed by his own melodrama. "It's like she thinks I'm five or something. It's like, I'm sixteen; treat me like an adult already." </p><p>"So why don't you just blow her off?" Richie asks.</p><p>Eddie recoils as if he's been slapped. "What?"</p><p>"Blow her off," Richie repeats. "Say, 'hey mommy,'" he mimics Eddie's voice but raises his pitch to sound like a toddler. Beverly snickers; Eddie's face contorts. "'I wanna go to my best fwiend Billy's house fow a swumber pawty.'" The rest of the group joins in on the ridicule; it causes Richie to sit up straighter with pride. Eddie's cheeks start to beet red.</p><p>"Oh fuck off," Eddie turns away from Richie. "You don't even know."</p><p>Richie pushes off the railing and strolls to Eddie's table. "So what about your dad?" </p><p>"What about him?"</p><p>Richie shrugs. "If you hate your mom so fucking much, go live with your dad." Bill shoots Richie a worried glance; Richie avoids it. "Or is he as psycho as your mom? Eh, anything's gotta be better than living in the Bates Motel, right Eds?"</p><p>"My dad died when I was five, asshole," Eddie snaps.</p><p>For a second, Richie looks guilty. "Oh..."</p><p>"It's no big deal," Eddie wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, "I barely knew him; he was sick all the time. Mom says I inherited all his health shit. It's why she's so paranoid." Eddie rolls his eyes overdramatically. "She's suffocating. Sometimes, I wish I didn't even have a mom. Like I could go live with my uncle or grandma or something."</p><p>Before Richie can reply, a furious "HA!" shakes the room.</p><p>Everyone turns to catch Mike staring Eddie down. Beverly smirks. Until now, Mike had been silent, straddling his chair and resting his chin on the back of it. Once he notices eyes on him, Mike looks away from Eddie; it seems his outburst hadn't intended to be...well, <em>out loud.</em></p><p>"Shut up!" Eddie spits.</p><p>The weak retort restores Mike's courage. He stands but doesn't move.  "You're full of shit," he ripostes. "You wouldn't know what to do without your mom. You're just feeling sorry for yourself."</p><p>"So what?" Eddie asks defensively. "If I didn't, nobody else would." Eddie scans the library expecting someone to stand up for him. No one comes to his defense; maybe they're all afraid to argue about parents with the only orphan at Derry High. For some reason, this pisses Mike off as much as it does Eddie. "Whatever," the baby-faced boy huffs.</p><p>"Farmboy?" Richie shatters the silence. Turns out somehow is brave — or stupid — enough to fight Mike. "Did you get along with your parents?" </p><p>Mike crosses his arms. "What do you care?"</p><p>"I don't," Richie says bluntly. "Tell us anyway."</p><p>"I know what you're trying to pull," Mike says. Richie raises an eyebrow. "If I say yes, I'm an idiot, right?"</p><p>"You're already an idiot," Richie smirks. He notices Eddie snickering vindictively under his breath. "But if you say you got along with your parents, then you're a liar too. Take off those rose-colored glasses, Old MacDonald." </p><p>"Okay, Richie, that's enough," Beverly says.</p><p>Richie and Mike don't realize they've been walking towards each other until they're standing a foot apart. They're glaring; Richie isn't sure how this became his battle, but he refuses to back down.</p><p>Stan abandons his half-finished essay to squeeze between them. "C'mon guys, nobody gets along with their parents," he says. Mike steps away, bumping Stan's shoulder as he passes; he sits on the edge of Ben's table, who studies him carefully. "Mine are nuts too. Their idea of parental compassion is..." Stan lifts a finger gun to his head; he fires and makes a noise imitating the splattering of his brain.</p><p>"Please," Beverly laughs in disbelief.</p><p>"My dad would cream his jeans if you were his kid, Yamaka." Richie slaps Stan on the shoulder. "You're a parent's wet dream."</p><p>"Yeah," Stan sighs, "that's the problem."</p><p>"We can all see they're shitty for making you dress like that," Richie gestures his hand up and down Stan's body. "But you'd probably dress like that anyway to hide the stick up your ass. What would you even do if you weren't out trying to make yourself a better citizen?"</p><p>"W-Why do you have to be such a d-dick to everyone?" Bill challenges.</p><p>"It doesn't count if you're being honest," Richie retorts. Bill's fingers squeeze into his palm.</p><p>An alarm beeps from Eddie's wristwatch, cutting the tension in the library. He unzips his fanny pack and pulls out a plastic pill organizer the same shade as his pullover. He pops open the compartment labeled <em>Saturday</em> and dumps five tiny pills into his palm.</p><p>"What are those?" Richie asks, approaching Eddie's table.</p><p>"Guess," Eddie quips before popping one into his mouth.</p><p>"No, I mean what do they do, dipshit."</p><p>"Oh..." Eddie looks down at the tablets; they're all chalky white circles, with no features to differentiate them. Eddie purses his lips as if he's trying to figure out their purposes for himself. "This one's for my allergies, and this one's for my migraines, this one's for my blood pressure..." he trails off, pointing at each pill. Richie feels the rambling is pathetic improv.</p><p>"You know they're all bullshit, right?" he says once Eddie swallows the last tablet. His condescension is palpable.</p><p>"Fuck off," Eddie bites.</p><p>"You really think those meds," Richie surrounds the word in air quotes, "do anything for you?"</p><p>Eddie shakes with rage but doesn't say anything.</p><p>"Have you ever gotten sick, Eds?" Richie asks. He doesn't wait for an answer. "I'll bet you a million dollars you haven't. Your mommy probably pumps you full of that fake shit to get you thinking you're some bubble boy. I bet she's convinced your virgin ass that you've got chlamydia."</p><p>Eddie raises his middle finger, and Richie feigns offense. "What an obscene gesture from such an adorable little momma's boy!"</p><p>"I'm not a momma's boy..." Eddie mumbles.</p><p>"Sure you are," Richie persists. He places his hands on either side of Eddie and leans in. "You'll bitch about her all day, but Mike's right. You'd be lost without mommy fucking dearest. You do whatever she says, even when it's bullshit, because, deep down, a part of you likes being controlled by her, being locked away from the big, scary world."</p><p>Everyone watches Richie and Eddie tensely; secondhand embarrassment settles on their faces, and no one can find the words to shut Richie up. "You'll live with her as long as you can until you find a whale of a woman who looks just like her. And then you'll spend the rest of your sad life wedged up her fat ass. That sound about right, Eds?"</p><p>Eddie's eyes are misty, his jaw is tight, and he can't bring himself to swallow.</p><p>The air is thick.</p><p>"Leave him alone," Bill growls. It's odd to hear him not stutter. When Richie doesn't back away from Eddie, Bill stands. "Stop f-fucking with him. Don't look at him, or t-talk to him, or e-even think a-about him!"</p><p>Richie keeks at Eddie, but Eddie is glaring at the floor, holding back a sniffle. "I'm trying to help him," Richie says coyly.</p><p>Bill comes closer. "He doesn't n-need your h-help. So just f-fuck off."</p><p>A familiar fire burns between them. "You gonna make me?" Richie asks.</p><p>Bill nods.</p><p>"Wow," Richie rubs his hands together. "What? Is Eds your <em>baby bwuther</em> now?"</p><p>What happens next is a blur.</p><p>Bill socks Richie with all the strength in his body. It's enough momentum to send Richie stumbling back, but he regains his balance and retaliates.</p><p>The two tussle for a few seconds, firing insults that sound <em>too</em> personal; they ignore the screams of their names as the others try to break up the fight. Mike and Beverly step between them, and Stan and Ben grab Richie while Eddie pulls at Bill's arm.</p><p>"Knock it off!" Mike shouts.</p><p>"Gray's gonna burst in any second!" Stan panics.</p><p>Bill and Richie continue flailing their limbs until they're pulled out of each other's reach. That's when they finally come to their senses and settle down. The others release their holds on them. "J-Just stay away from us!" Bill splutters.</p><p>Richie holds up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he says brusquely. "Neither of you are worth the fucking trouble anyway."</p><p>Without another word, Richie stomps off to another part of the library. Beverly chases after him with a sigh. Ben wants to say something to her as she passes — he even opens his mouth to do so — but Beverly moves too fast and leaves him in the dust. Ben mumbles something to himself under his breath; it sounds a little like he's calling himself stupid.</p><p>Silence settles over the tables again. The five who remain believe it's for the best.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Principal Gray returns at eleven o'clock.</p><p>Richie and Beverly have since made their way back to the tables, but Richie is sitting with Beverly, as far as he can possibly get from Bill and Eddie. Gray notices the shift and smiles evilly; he either doesn't catch or doesn't care about the pile of destroyed books near the stairs.</p><p>"Alright kiddies," Gray singsongs, "you've got thirty minutes for lunch."</p><p>"Here? In the library?" Stan asks. Principal Gray nods. Stan winces as if the man just told him his mother died. "But wouldn't the cafeteria be a better place for us to eat lunch in, sir?"</p><p>"You're eating here," Gray stomps his foot and points a bony finger at the floor.</p><p>"Hey, uh, Bobby," Beverly calls out. "Sorry, Rob. Will milk be made available to us?"</p><p>"We're extremely thirsty, sir!" Ben says. Everyone plays along.</p><p>"I have an extremely low tolerance for dehydration," Eddie frowns.</p><p>"I've seen him dehydrated, sir," Stan cocks a thumb at Eddie. "It's pretty gross, a full blown medical emergency."</p><p>"No worries," Beverly stands. "Richie and I can track down refreshments."</p><p>"Nice try, Miss Marsh," Gray snaps his fingers until Beverly sits with a smug smirk. "I won't have either of you defectives roaming the halls." Gray's eyes jump between each student until his unsettling stare settles on Bill. "You, and..." Gray looks around again. Bill subtly leans his head towards Eddie, who straightens his posture. Gray sees the gesture, which is why he points to Stan. "You." </p><p>Stan had returned to his essay after Gray snapped at him. Because he's hyperfocused on his paper, he doesn't notice when the principal points him out. "Hey! Curly top!" Ben leans forward and jabs Stan's shoulder. "Let's go!"</p><p>Bill and Stan stand; Stan slings his backpack over his shoulder. "The soda machine by the gymnasium. No one eats until you two get back."</p><p>Everyone, besides Richie, hands Bill a dollar for a Coke. Eddie's peripheral spots Richie, and no one notices when he slips Bill an extra dollar.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Bill and Stan drag their feet down the hall. Stan's preoccupied with straightening his button-up. Bill doesn't bother to tell him there aren't any creases to brush out; he doubts Stan would listen anyway.</p><p>It's weird to see the school deserted; they both have memories of pushing through the halls and being shoved against lockers by Henry Bowers. Neither of them points it out, though. It's one of those things that feels like a given; it floats in the air unsaid. </p><p>They round the corner and pass the double doors of the gymnasium; the soda machine is within sight. Suddenly, Stan lets out a series of subdued laughs. "W-What?" Bill asks him.</p><p>"Nothing," Stan shakes his head. "I was just thinking how cool it was when you punched Richie."  </p><p>The fight is far from Bill's proudest moment, but he still cracks a smile. "S-Somebody needed to."</p><p>Stan rubs the back of his head. "I was betting it'd be Mike," he says. "It's odd, I guess."</p><p>"Huh?" Bill's eyebrows rise; one of them hides behind his bangs.</p><p>"You and Richie are friends..." Stan sounds like someone who was sure of his thoughts until he began speaking them. "Right?"</p><p>Bill shoves his hands into his pockets. He aims his eyes on the checkered floor and tries to push back the swirl of emotions rising in the pit of his stomach. "Not r-really."</p><p>"Oh..." Stan leaves it alone; he senses Bill is grateful.</p><p>They approach the soda machine; Bill begins feeding it dollars, and Stan places each soda can neatly in his backpack. As the machine drops out the seventh can, Bill looks to Stan. "So...what did you d-do to end up i-in here?" It's clear none of them have anything in common, but Stan appears especially out of place in detention. He's a model student.</p><p>Stan shrugs. "It's stupid." </p><p>"I t-think we're all in here f-for s-stupid stuff."</p><p>"I know." Stan clutches the straps of his backpack tighter. They start back down the hall. "It's just...I didn't really do anything."</p><p>Bill humors him. "That's what t-they all say."</p><p>"No, I mean it," Stan replies with a high degree of certainty; it catches Bill off guard. "I'm here because of my dad. It's kind of like a warning. He has this idea of what makes someone a man, and he wants me to see what it could be like if I fuck up. Like I could end up like Beverly or Richie if I stray off course or something. More like, if I don't listen to him."</p><p>Bill doesn't say anything, he just watches Stan curiously.</p><p>"I'm on the right track," Stan continues. "I've got everything I need to get out of here and make something of myself. To be better—"</p><p>"Than u-us?" Bill interjects.</p><p>When they pass the honor roll plague, it shouts for Bill's attention; Stan's name sits near the top of it. He's never given it a second look before, not even when they passed it on their way to the soda machine. Now, it holds a brand new context.</p><p>"I guess," Stan sounds ashamed of himself. "It's what my dad thinks. It's what he <em>wants. </em>I don't get much of a say in what's happening to me. Not like the rest of you do."</p><p>"W-wow..." Bill chews on Stan's words, but the look on his face tells Stan he isn't buying any of it. After a brief hesitation, Bill challenges him. He isn't angry or defensive, just skeptical. "Now tell me why you're r-really here."</p><p>Stan's shoulders stiffen, and it's his turn to hide his hands in his pockets. "Whatever." He increases his pace, leaving just enough space between them to make it clear they're finishing their trip alone.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Back in the library, Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Mike, and Richie wait with growling stomachs.</p><p>Mike busies himself with cleaning up the trashed books and ripped pages Richie left scattered around. Richie and Ben are sitting in the loveseat over in the science section of the library. Richie's flipping through an anatomy textbook aimlessly.</p><p>When Mike wanders over to scoop up a stray page behind the loveseat, Richie says over his shoulder, "you don't have to do that, Mikey boy. They've got a middle-aged, balding maid for that."</p><p>"One of us has to," Mike grumbles.</p><p> Richie turns sideways, spreading his legs across Ben's lap. "So you're interested in a career in the custodial arts? Dream big, Mikey!"</p><p>"Go fuck yourself," Mike bites.</p><p>Eddie's sitting on the circular table opposite the loveseat; he's small enough that his entire body fits on it, and he's hugging his legs to his chest. When Mike passes, Eddie hands him the spine of <em>The Great Gatsby</em>. "I'm just not getting blamed for your shit," Mike elaborates.</p><p>"Why would you get blamed?" Ben speaks up. "You didn't do it."</p><p>Mike rolls his eyes, but he isn't angry at Ben specifically. "Gray won't care," he says, "he'll blame me for anything."  </p><p>"That's how it goes," Beverly approaches. She's wearing her oversized sunglasses and a smirk. "You land on Gray's shitlist, you're there for life."</p><p>Ben's eyes move from Beverly to Mike. "So what'd you do to piss Gray off?" he asks. "I mean...I kinda get why he hates Beverly." Ben looks back to her meekly. "No offense."</p><p>Beverly isn't bothered. She's about to joke back, but Mike replies before she can. "Nothing," he says. "It's just—"</p><p>"Systematic oppression, señor!" Richie shouts in a stereotypical Mexican accent; he waves his hand in the air.</p><p>Mike sends Richie a pointed glance but doesn't disagree. "You see how Gray is," Mike tells Ben. "He lives to torture us; doesn't matter how."</p><p>"That's why you don't let him get to you," Beverly nudges Ben.</p><p>Mike doesn't take kindly to her comment. "Easy for you to say."</p><p>"What do you mean?" Ben asks.</p><p>"Just drop it." Mike doesn't mean to sound harsh; he feels guilty watching Ben's quiver, but he doesn't apologize. With his hands full of vandalized books, Mike strolls off to dispose of them. Afterward, he returns to his table, leaving the four of them to their own devices.</p><p>Richie's eager to earn the spotlight back. With Bill gone, he feels brave. "Hey, Eds." Eddie looks up from his knees. "Wanna see a picture of a guy with elephant-titis of the nuts?" Ben leans over to see the picture and recoils with his tongue out.</p><p>Eddie groans. "Shut up, Richie."</p><p>"No, really," Richie adjusts his glasses. "You'll think they're tasty." Richie tilts the book on its side to stare at the picture from a different angle. He strokes his chin as if he's contemplating something serious. "Would you ever date a guy with nuts like these, Eds?"</p><p>"I'm not gay!" Eddie moans. "Just leave me alone." He shifts to give Richie the cold shoulder.</p><p>Beverly takes pity on Eddie; she decides to switch the subject. "You know what I wish I was doing?" she leans against a pillar.</p><p>"Careful!" Richie snickers. He smacks Ben on the stomach. "Nothing too explicit in front of cherry pie over here."</p><p>Either Beverly doesn't hear him, or she ignores him; it's not clear which. "I wish I was at the quarry," she sighs. She fixates on the ceiling and slips into a daydream. "Swimming."</p><p>Blushing, Ben whispers, "I'm not a cherry," into Richie's ear.</p><p>Richie's eyes widen and his jaw drops, overdramatizing his skepticism. "Oh really?!" he asks loud enough to gain Beverly and Eddie's attention. "When have you ever gotten laid?"</p><p>"I've laid lots of times..." Ben says. He doesn't sound confident.</p><p>"Name one girl!" Richie commands.</p><p>With Richie, Beverly, and Eddie's eyes on him, Ben's never felt smaller. "She went to my old school; you guys wouldn't know her." </p><p>"How about in Derry?" Richie pushes. "If you're such a stud, you've probably nailed a girl who goes to <em>our</em> school." Ben's eyes widen like he's been caught in the headlights of a speeding car. "C'mon Benny, spill. Names, details! Set the scene!"</p><p>"Shut up," Ben hisses. He holds up his hand to hide the way his other hand points to Beverly.</p><p>"Ooooooh!" Richie laughs. "I get you, man," he winks at a horrified Ben. "You and Bev are fucking, huh?"</p><p>"What?" Beverly cries.</p><p>"No! No!" Ben shouts. He thrashes his hands through the air. "That's not what I said!" His face is redder than a tomato.</p><p>"Then could you please explain to the court why you were motioning to Bev?" Richie asks.</p><p>"Yeah, what the fuck, Ben?" Beverly lowers her sunglasses, revealing her disgust.</p><p>"That's not what I meant, I swear!" Ben shakes his head desperately.</p><p>"So you deny hanging up Bev's meat curtains?" Richie asks.</p><p>Eddie's wide stare bounces between the three, settling on whoever's talking at the moment.</p><p>"Richie said I was a cherry, and I said I wasn't," Ben insists. "That's all!"</p><p>"So why involve Bev?" Richie presses. "Is it because you thought I'd believe you if you said you slept with her? Because every guy sleeps with Bev?" Beverly rolls her eyes. "She's like a get out of virginity free card, whether you really rode her hobby horse or not. You say you fucked her, and everybody just believes you."</p><p>"He's lying!" Ben says to Beverly. "You've gotta believe me." Beverly's glare doesn't soften. With nowhere else to turn, Ben looks to Eddie. "You know he's lying, right?" Eddie sneaks a glance at Richie, then back at Ben; like Beverly, he doesn't respond. "Guys...come on."</p><p>"I thought you were different, Ben," Beverly huffs.</p><p>Those words stab Ben through his chest. "Fine, I just..." he looks to the floor in shame. "I didn't want Bev to know I'm a virgin."</p><p>Richie narrows his eyes like he doesn't buy it. Ben starts fidgeting; he pushes Richie's legs off his lap. "Fuck me for being a virgin, I guess."</p><p>"Why?" Beverly's tone is light again, the way Ben has grown accustomed to. "Why wouldn't you want me to know you're a virgin?"</p><p>"Because..." Ben knows that's hardly an answer. "I guess I thought—"</p><p>"I'd think you were cool if you weren't a virgin?" she finishes. Ben nods. "There's nothing wrong with being a virgin."</p><p>Ben looks up in shock. "Really?"</p><p>Beverly smiles and nods. "Yeah. I think it's sweet for a guy to be a virgin." Ben's heart rate settles down and he offers Beverly a mild smile as thanks.</p><p>Like always, Richie refocuses on Eddie. "What about you, Eds? Is the bud still on the rose?"</p><p>Eddie slides off the table. "I'm so not doing this with you right now." He heads to the front of the library, not looking back once.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>"Finally!" Richie throws up his hands when Bill and Stan return. "We were seconds away from cooking Porky Pig over here!" He goes ignored.</p><p>Stan unzips his bag and hands half the cans to Bill to deliver. Everyone offers some form of gratitude when a can is placed in front of them; Richie is visibly shocked when Bill passes him one. "I didn't—" Bill cuts him off by cocking his head towards Eddie. </p><p>Richie is the only one with no lunch to unpack; it appears he forgot to make himself one. He steals a glimpse at each lunch, noting the differences.</p><p>Bill has a few slices of leftover pizza; they don't look appetizing cold, but he nibbles at them anyway.</p><p>Mike has a homemade sub stacked high with every meat Richie can think of; it's overflowing, slipping out the back of the sandwich. Mike catches him staring and wears a dirty look that makes it clear he isn't sharing.</p><p>Stan has slices of grilled salmon neatly arranged in order from smallest to largest and a twisted knot of crispy bread with raisins sprinkled on top. </p><p>Beverly has several bags of chips and candy bars that seem lifted from the corner store. She notices Richie's empty table and tosses him a Snickers bar, which bounces between his hands before he ultimately secures it.</p><p>Ben has a turkey sandwich he neglects in favor of the ziplock bag full of chocolate chip cookies; they smell homemade, and everyone's jealous.</p><p>Of course, Richie finds Eddie's lunch the most interesting. He scoots his chair over to Eddie and watches intently as he opens the metal lunchbox. "What's on the menu, Eds?" He reaches to grab at the food, but Eddie smacks his knuckles.</p><p>Eddie pulls out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich — with the crusts cut off — wrapped airtight in saran wrap, a small bag of pretzels, a strawberry Capri Sun, a banana, and a short, but thick, thermos. "That your milky?" Richie asks with puckered lips. </p><p>"Soup," Eddie corrects him pointedly.</p><p>"Oh, of course, my bad," Richie pouts sarcastically. "So what's my cut?"</p><p>Eddie laughs as if Richie's told a great joke. "Don't you have your own lunch to ea—" Eddie looks over his shoulder to find Richie's table bare — "oh..." With a tiny sigh, he hands Richie his banana.</p><p>Beverly comes down the aisle with a Kit Kat bar. "Hey Bill," she calls. "What'cha got?" She appears willing to trade, but her lips thin when she notices his meager lunch. Bill's in the middle of chewing a bite of floppy pizza when he raises an eyebrow. "That's lame." </p><p>"What's l-lame?" Bill asks on the tail end of his bite.</p><p>"Your shitty lunch!" Richie tosses his banana peel over his shoulder. Beverly nods.</p><p>Bill shrugs. "It's a-all we had in the h-house."</p><p>"Oh, I don't believe that," Beverly snickers. She tosses her Kit Kat bar to Ben, who barely catches it. "Don't you have a doting mom like Eddie's?" She points at Eddie, and he looks as if he wants to say something, but the peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth is keeping him quiet. "Smells like Ben's dad married Mrs. Fields over there."  </p><p>"You d-don't know what y-you're talking about," Bill mutters.</p><p>Richie laughs. "Billy's mom's a regular Becky Homecky."</p><p>"I can tell," Beverly smirks. She gestures up and down Bill. "Nice haircut, matching clothes. Probably waits on you hand and foot, huh? Bet she puts the nuke in the nuclear family."</p><p>Bill says nothing.</p><p>Richie hops up into the aisle. "How about a little improv, Bev? Life at Billy Denbrough's house!"</p><p>Everyone watches them with piqued interest; Bill already looks angry.</p><p>Beverly clears her throat obnoxiously. "Oh son!" she bellows.</p><p>Richie combs his unruly bangs to one side. "Y-Y-Yeah d-d-dad!" </p><p>"Did you have a good day at school?"</p><p>"S-S-Sure did. I-It was the b-bee's k-knees."</p><p>"How about we take Friday off to go fishing?" Beverly casts an invisible line.</p><p>"J-J-Jeepers, dad!" Richie pokes his cheeks where dimples would be. "B-B-But what about my h-h-homework?"</p><p>Beverly smacks Richie on the shoulder. "We'll do it...On. The. Boat."</p><p>"Y-Yay!" Richie throws up his hands.</p><p>Beverly wraps her arm around Richie's shoulder and pulls him close. "Dear, isn't our son swell?" she plants a kiss on Richie's cheek. Eddie, who had been watching with a humored smirk, lets his lips fall and turns away.</p><p>"Why yes, dear!" Richie raises his voice a few octaves. "Isn't life swell?"</p><p>They take turns planting slobbery kisses on each other's cheeks until Beverly abruptly drops her fake smile. She shoots up her fist to Richie's face, and makes a <em>plsh</em> sound, pantomiming a punch. They separate and take a bow for an audience that isn't clapping.</p><p>When gazes turn to Bill to gauge his reaction, he's in the midst of wiping his face with the back of his hand. His eyes look a little puffy. "F-Fuck you." It's apparent to Beverly that he's looking right past her and speaking only to Richie.</p><p>Fearing another fight is on the horizon, Stan quickly wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his food aside. "Alright then," he says. He folds his hands in his lap. "What's it like at your house?"</p><p>It isn't clear whom Stan is asking, but Richie takes the initiative and shoos his hand at Stan. "You don't wanna know," he replies curtly. Richie walks to the back right table and sits on its edge.</p><p>Stan doesn't pursue. Instead, he zeroes in on Beverly. "Come on, Bev. If you're going to talk shit, back it up." </p><p>"Oh?" she rests a hand on her hip. "You want to see a day in my life?" For the first time, Beverly sounds defensive. Stan doesn't back down; he nods expectantly. "Okay..."</p><p>Beverly takes a deep breath. The boys wonder if she's making a scene of getting into character or working up the courage to start; they'll know soon. Her lips curl into an eerie smile, one that mirrors Principal Gray's. "You're worrying me, Bevvy." Her voice sounds nothing like her own; she speaks breathy, calculated, sinister. "What happened to my little girl?" </p><p>Then her shoulders tighten, she hunches down, and she hugs herself tightly around her stomach. "Don't touch me." Her voice shakes like she's on the verge of tears.</p><p>Her hand trails up to cup her cheek. "It better not be true," she sounds evil again. "What they say about you and that Bowers boy."</p><p>"It's nothing, daddy."</p><p>"Are you still my little girl?" Her grip on her face tightens, digging tiny marks into her cheek.</p><p>"N-no." Her face twists into a rage that matches her previous battle with Gray.</p><p>The boys exchange uncomfortable glances. Out of guilt, Stan clears his throat and opens his mouth. "A-Alright," he says to stop her, but Beverly is lost in her own reenactment. </p><p>"What did you say to me?" Beverly grips her hair and yanks.</p><p>"I said no!"</p><p>"You don't think you owe me something? After what you did to your mom?"</p><p>"I hate you!"</p><p>"Who's my little girl, Bevvy?"</p><p>Beverly opens her mouth to scream again, but Ben grabs her wrist. On reflex, Beverly jerks her hand away and pushes Ben; luckily, the contact manages to anchor her back to reality. Still heaving, Beverly turns three hundred and sixty degrees and shrinks under each boy's disturbed state. "What?" she fires at them defensively.</p><p>"Was that...real?" Ben asks.</p><p>Beverly misinterprets his thin hope as skepticism. She steps around the table, leans in close to him, and lifts her earlobe. "See that?" Ben gulps and tries to look anywhere but forward, but Beverly eclipses his field of vision. He's forced to stare at the prominent mark behind her ear; it swoops upwards and hides behind her hair. "Is that <em>real?</em>"</p><p>Ben stutters. "I didn't mean it like..." What he says doesn't matter because Beverly pulls back angrily.</p><p>"You know what," she claps her hands together. She releases a laugh that indicates she's barely holding in a hurricane of rage. "I think I'm done sitting around with you assholes." Without another word, she slides through the bars of the staircase and stomps up to the second floor.</p><p>Immediately, Ben and Richie start to follow after her, but Mike holds up his arm to stop them. "Let her breathe," he tells them.</p><p>Everyone jumps when they hear an anguished shout and a desk topple over. They turn to watch Beverly toss books, pencils, and whatever else she can get her hands on over the balcony.</p><p>Despite the violent chaos ensuing upstairs, Mike musters up a half-reassuring expression. "She'll be okay," he insists. "She just needs a little time."</p><p>With hunched shoulders, Ben returns to his seat. "You shouldn't have asked her," he mumbles angrily to Stan.</p><p>Stan's shame is written across his face.</p><p>"H-He didn't k-know," Bill says. "Nobody did." Slowly, he, Ben, Stan, and Eddie turn to Richie.</p><p>At first, Richie doesn't notice, but when he does, he raises his hands defensively. "Fuck, I didn't know either." Eager to get the heat off him, he cocks his head at Mike. "What about you? You spend almost every Saturday in here with her."</p><p>"It's not like we've told each other our life stories," Mike shrugs. Something in the way he avoids eye contact with the others indicates he's more perceptive than he lets on. "Let's just leave her alone, alright?"</p><p>A few minutes pass, and the boys make weak attempts to appear as if they're eating. They're able to release some of the tension in their shoulders once Beverly's tantrum subsides. She doesn't come back down; instead, she sits at the railing lining the second floor. She sticks her legs between two of them and rests her forehead against the cool, metal bars.</p><p>The boys take Mike's advice and leave her be.</p><p>Eventually, each of them pushes the rest of their lunch aside. They've lost their appetites.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>At twelve-thirty-four, Beverly finally comes back downstairs.</p><p>No one knows what to say to her, so they make an unspoken pact to just say nothing. To their surprise, her demeanor has shifted back to warm, charming, <em>mischievous</em>. She grabs her bag off the table and stretches her arms like she's preparing for a jog. "Well, I could sure go for a smoke right about now," is how she bursts the bubble of silence.</p><p>"What?" Eddie's jaw drops in condescension. "You spent like four hours smoking in the bathroom this morning!"</p><p>"Hyperbole much?" Richie snickers.</p><p>Beverly waves her hand dismissively. "I'm not talking about cigarettes." The boys connect the dots quickly; Beverly grins and revels at the realization subsequently spreading across each of their faces. "Who wants in?"</p><p>"Oh no!" Stan stands and places his hands on his hips. "You are not bringing marijuana in here." </p><p>"I'm not going to force you to smoke it," she promises, though it's clearly ridicule. Stan still disapproves.</p><p>"We've got four hours to go in this hellhole," Richie shrugs. "I say we commence with operation weed whacking!" He hops out of his seat with vigor; Eddie stands too, but the way he jumps up immediately after Richie reveals his interest has little to do with the weed.</p><p>"C'mon boys," Beverly starts towards the door. "Time for a field trip."</p><p>One by one, the rest rise. The energy of Ben's eagerness matches Eddie's, and Mike shrugs in a way that muses, <em>"why not?"</em>  As Bill stands, Stan looks to him for support. Maybe he's motivated by guilt over what happened at lunch, or maybe he actually wants some weed; regardless of his reasons, Bill shakes his head and follows after the others.</p><p>"Guys! Seriously!" Stan calls after them. "Gray's gonna kill you if you get caught." No one acknowledges him.</p><p>Beverly inches the library door open and pokes her head into the hall. Groaning, Stan drags his feet after them. "This is so fucking stupid."</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>"This is so fucking stupid!" Stan hisses for the fifth time as the group scurries down to the first floor of the school. Of course, Beverly's locker has to be as far from the library as possible, and Stan has no qualms about voicing his dissension every step of the way. "This is so fucking—"</p><p>"We heard you," Mike snaps. He and the others pick up their pace to help tune Stan out. </p><p>Near the front of the pack, Richie and Eddie walk on Beverly's heels. Ben keeps up as well. "Does anyone know where Gray is right now?" he asks.</p><p>With a smirk, Beverly shakes her head no. "Nope."</p><p>"So how are we not gonna get caught?" Ben presses her.</p><p>Again, Beverly shakes her head. "We'll figure it out." </p><p>"I bet G-Gray's not even a-around," Bill says.</p><p>"Where would he go?" Stan inquires skeptically.</p><p>"Probably the front office," Mike rolls his eyes. He sticks his hands in his pockets. "He's down there with his nose in the student records any chance he gets." Beverly nods over her shoulder.</p><p>"Still," Eddie sighs, "I seriously can't believe we're doing this right now." His words initially sound hesitant, but his tone differs from Stan's. No one can quite place his inflection — anxiety, excitement, some other third thing — except for Richie.</p><p>"Believe it, Eds!" Richie locks their arms; surprisingly, Eddie doesn't break away. Richie snickers and raises his eyebrows a few times. "Admit it, being bad feels pretty good, huh?" Eddie looks down at his feet, but the way he doesn't deny it speaks volumes.</p><p>"I swear," Stan threatens, "if Gray catches us..."</p><p>"If we keep cool, he won't catch us," Beverly says confidently. "He can smell fear, so stop sweating." She laughs as Ben takes her advice literally and sniffs the collar of his shirt to doublecheck himself.</p><p>Rounding one final corner, Beverly guides them to the last locker against the wall, right next to the back door leading to the parking lot. "Here we are!" She presents the locker with beaming pride as if it's a coveted prize on a game show. In reality, it's the furthest thing from.</p><p>The locker is rusty, scratched, and chipped from top to bottom. It smells vaguely of something unpleasant none of them can place. Eddie makes an effort when he plugs his nose and cries, "do you have a fucking dead animal in there?" Beverly shrugs. The show-stealer, however, is the threat sprawled across the locker in bold, black spray paint:</p><p>
  <strong>OPEN THIS LOCKER</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>AND </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>YOU</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>DIE </strong>
</p><p>"Wait a minute," Ben scratches his temple. "Bev, this isn't your—"</p><p>The boys jump when Beverly pops off the combination lock and pulls the door open. A razor blade fashioned into a guillotine drops down from the locker's ceiling to its base. It hangs on a thin cord, and, with no concern, Beverly pulls the cord and lifts the booby trap back to its original spot.</p><p>As Beverly fiddles through the locker's messy contents, the boys study the inside of the door. A poster of a Playboy model, and the initials <em>"HB" </em>carved in the metal around it. With their lips parted in tiny circles, the six of them realize whose locker Beverly is raiding.  </p><p>"Are you fucking insane?" Stan cries.</p><p>Beverly ignores him, humming to herself while she pulls out a giant plastic bag.</p><p>Eddie turns to Richie. "Did you know about this?"</p><p>Richie shakes his head but laughs. "I'm just along for the ride, Eds."</p><p>They watch Beverly unwrap the bag, which reveals another plastic bag, and so on. A Russian doll's worth of bags lies at her feet before she retrieves her prize: a ziplock baggy full of marijuana. "Jackpot."</p><p>"Okay, now put it back," Stan demands. When no one around him moves, Stan's expression contorts in distress. He slaps his forehead with an irritated sigh. "We are not stealing Henry Bowers' weed!"</p><p>"What do you care?" Beverly asks pointedly. "You're not smoking it."</p><p>Stan glares and shifts his jaw; he isn't willing to submit, but he lacks a retort. Some relief washes over him when Mike clears his throat. "It's a dumb idea," he crosses his arms. "None of us are in the mood to start a war with Bowers." The boys subsequently nod.</p><p>"Especially Billy," Richie forces an arm around Bill's shoulder. "He's already on top of our resident bully's shitlist." Bill inches away uncomfortably.</p><p>"Don't worry, sissies," Beverly rolls her eyes, "I'll take the fall with Bowers."</p><p>"Fine," Stan huffs. There's no hiding his persistent dissatisfaction; he shifts his gaze around the hall. Their immediate safety becomes his primary concern once again. "Let's get back before Gray finds us."</p><p>Beverly slams Henry Bowers' locker shut nonchalantly; as the boys start down the hall, she slips the combination lock into her bag.</p><p>The group spreads out. Some of the anxiety surrounding being caught eases, and their rushed tiptoeing devolves into a casual stroll.</p><p>Mike and Eddie lead the group; they're holding a casual conversation that starts with Mike listing off the animals on his grandfather's farm, which leads into Eddie diving into all the health risks associated with bacon. Mike nods along to perpetuate the illusion that he's listening.</p><p>Stan and Ben cruise in the middle. Initially, they're silent, but, after a minute, Stan swallows his pride and asks Ben about the poetry club. Ben's ecstatic. Beverly's an inch behind them, and she teasingly suggests pop stars could be considered modern-day poets. She asks Ben if he thinks they have the <em>"right stuff,"</em> and he blushes as Stan launches into a debate.</p><p>Richie and Bill awkwardly bring up the rear. Their eyes bounce around the hall, focusing on anything but each other. Even with the others a few feet in front of them, they feel isolated, stranded on an island together. It's a familiar sensation, but not at the same time. "S-So," Bill rubs the back of his neck. "About e-earlier..."</p><p>Richie shoves his hands in his pocket and bites his lip. He isn't sure which <em>earlier</em> Bill is referring to; he doesn't like the odds of guessing, so he doesn't ask. Luckily, Bill elaborates. "I-I shouldn't have p-punched—"</p><p>"Don't worry about it," Richie says sharply.</p><p>It makes Bill feel guilty. "I g-guess I thought—"</p><p>"Thought what?" Richie asks coldly. When Bill doesn't say anything, Richie huffs. "Forget it. I'm over it. All of it."</p><p>Bill's mouth dries up. He's not sure what to do with himself, so he starts swinging his arms. There's an itching urge to read into the defensiveness in Richie's tone, but Bill resists. With a shrug, Bill says, "F-fine."</p><p>It seems Richie had been expecting something else because he shakes his head in irritation. "Whatever, Bill."</p><p>Richie picks up his pace to catch up with Eddie; Bill watches in vague envy as the two boys engage in their witty back and forth.</p><p>Rounding the corner, the group finds Gray at the other end of the hall, peeping into students' lockers.</p><p>"Fuck!" Richie hisses. He grabs Eddie by his shirt and yanks him back. Mike turns and holds out his arm to physically stop Stan and Ben. </p><p>The boys turn around and run left. Beverly lingers behind. With a smirk, she watches Gray turn left at the end of the hall. In her head, she counts to ten, and the boys come sprinting back to avoid crossing paths with Gray once again. This time, she follows behind them.</p><p>They take the long way around the first floor in hopes of reaching the main staircase while side-stepping Gray. They rely on Ben to navigate; at every juncture, he calls out which direction to take. They obey without objections, and he never leads them into a dead end.</p><p>Eventually, they've circled the building. Running at top speed, they approach the double doors of the main stairwell, only to catch a glimpse of Gray dancing up the steps just on the other side of the door. They screech to a stop, though their momentum slides them across the floor. Beverly and Richie recover quickly, while the others struggle to gain traction, their shoes squeaking against the tarnished tiles.</p><p>Eddie almost trips in his effort to turn around, but Richie grabs his hand and pulls him forward; they disappear around the corner just as the stairwell doors fling open to reveal a suspicious Principal Gray.</p><p>For a minute, they run with no direction, focusing only on dodging Gray, who now seems to be hunting them on the other side of the first floor. It doesn't take long before everyone's energy is spent. They pause for a moment and lean against some lockers to catch their breath.</p><p>Eddie pulls out his inhaler and takes a quick pull. "Being bad feels pretty good, huh?" he mocks Richie with a snooty inflection.</p><p>"Fair...point..." Richie sighs, running a hand through his sweaty bangs.</p><p>"The...south...stairwell," Ben heaves. "If we beat Gray there, we can sneak into the library through the back entrance." Six heads nod in sequence.</p><p>"We need a shortcut," Mike says. "We can't stay in the halls now that he's stalking them."</p><p>"What if we cut through the cafeteria?" Stan suggests. "It stretches across the whole floor, we can take it right to the south stairwell." Ben's head leans side to side as he weighs the idea. Stan points ahead to the west cafeteria entrance a few yards in front of them. "We can get to the stairwell before Gray makes a full round."</p><p>"It's t-too risky," Bill's hunched over with his hands on his knees. "There are windows a-across the w-whole caf. H-He'll s-see us."</p><p>Stan groans. "So then what?"</p><p>Bill and Ben exchange glances. "W-What about the activities h-hall?"</p><p>Beverly, Eddie, Mike, Richie, and Stan watch Ben consider the route. His eyes dance as if he's materializing the blueprints of Derry High out of thin air. Slowly, Ben nods. "It'd take a little more time, but it's way less risky than the cafeteria."</p><p>"Fuck that," Stan snaps. "I'm getting back to the library before Gray cuts us off. Do whatever you want."</p><p>Stan makes a beeline for the cafeteria door. Richie, Eddie, and Mike take off after him, Beverly shrugs like she doesn't care either way and follows. Ben and Bill are left behind. Bill sighs and leans against the lockers, but Ben starts backing up towards the cafeteria. His expression desperate, Ben begins waving his hand insisting Bill come along.</p><p>With no choice, Bill surrenders and breaks into a run; he and Ben sprint to catch up.</p><p>The cafeteria floor is freshly mopped, and everyone slips and stumbles in a dash to the south entrance. Regardless, they zip across the cafeteria. They close in on their exit, the south stairwell in clear sight, and then...</p><p>"Down!" Beverly shouts. No one needs to ask why.</p><p>Without a word, they drop and scurry to hide under the nearest tables. Stan and Beverly squeeze under the table closest to the south entrance, Mike protectively holds Bill and Ben down alongside the circular table reserved for Gretta Keene and her goons. Richie and Eddie slide behind one of the snack machines and cuddle closely.</p><p>Just as everyone takes cover, Gray steps into the cafeteria from its east entrance.</p><p>The kids hold their breaths as Gray prowls across the cafeteria. His steps echo off the walls, and he moves with his back hunched and fingers dancing hungrily, like a hunter closing in on his prey; it seems he knows they're in here with him. They hold in their gasps when Gray abruptly leans under a table. Eddie grabs Richie's hand and squeezes as Gray peers around the soda machine on the other side of them.</p><p>His search drags on, sinking into their skin like an eternity of panic. As soon as the group can no longer resist their need for oxygen, Gray straightens up, hmphs, and then strolls back into the hallway through the cafeteria's west entrance. Seven sharp inhales pierce the eerie silence.</p><p>"Great plan, Moses," Beverly hisses to Stan.</p><p>"Fuck you," he says.</p><p>"No, fuck you!" Mike interjects. "Why didn't you listen to Bill?"</p><p>"New group leader vote," Richie says. "I nominate Billy. All in favor?"</p><p>Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Richie, and Mike raise their hands. Bill sighs, "g-guys..."</p><p>"All opposed?" Richie asks. Stan rolls his eyes. "All hail Bill, the leader of our losers club!" A few snickers swim across the cafeteria in an effort to lighten the mood.</p><p>A few seconds pass before the group feels safe to emerge from their hiding spots and converge at the center of the cafeteria. It's only then that Richie and Eddie realize they're <em>still</em> holding hands, and Eddie rips his hand away before he thinks anybody notices.</p><p>"Okay, All-Mighty Loser; what's our plan now?" Beverly asks Bill. </p><p>Bill prepares to voice his objection to the responsibility, but his lips thin out when the others turn to him with expectance. "A d-diversion?" he suggests. "We c-could get up the s-stairs while h-he's d-distracted." The rest of them nod. "Any s-suggestions?"</p><p>"We could pull the fire alarm?" Ben says.</p><p>Beverly smirks. "I'll do you one better; let's set a fire in a trashcan."</p><p>"You're out of your fucking mind," Stan scoffs.</p><p>The group begins to bicker amongst themselves. Surprisingly, the only one who keeps quiet is Richie. While he chews on his bottom lip, an idea pops into his head. He peeks a glance at Eddie, adjusts his glasses, and makes up his mind. "I've got it!"</p><p>Everyone looks at him skeptically. "This should be great," Stan mutters.</p><p>Richie ignores him. "I'll go distract Gray; you guys get back up to the library with Bev's precious cargo."</p><p>"What?!" Eddie's eyes bug out.</p><p>"At this point, we're fucked," Richie continues. For once, everybody agrees with him. "But we don't all have to go down." Richie meets Eddie's gaze hesitantly, "just me."</p><p>"Let me do it," Beverly says.</p><p>"No!" Ben cries.</p><p>"Jumbotron's right," Richie pats Ben on the stomach. "Gray might actually kill you if he catches you. Let me earn some street cred, Bev."</p><p>Beverly sighs but concedes, much to Ben's relief. No one argues, but Eddie keeps licking his top lip, contemplating whether he should speak. Richie pretends he doesn't notice; he places a hand on Bill's shoulder and shakes lightly. "Wait for my signal, then get everybody back to the library." Richie cocks his head at Eddie, "pull him kicking and screaming if you have to."</p><p>Bill nods. Richie turns to Eddie and pinches the baby fat on his cheek. "Don't you forget about me, Eds."</p><p>Just when Eddie moves to swat Richie's hand away, Richie is gone, sprinting across the cafeteria in the direction they came.</p><p>"He's...something..." Mike says.</p><p>"Yeah," Eddie nods, staring blankly ahead.</p><p>"Wait," Ben frowns, "what's the signal?"</p><p>On cue, Richie's screams shake the walls, an obnoxious, off-tune rendition of Modern English's <em>"I Melt With You."</em> They all liken it to the sound of nails on a chalkboard and wince. "THERE'S NOTHING YOU AND I WON'T DO! I'LL STOP THE WORLD AND MELT WITH YOU!"</p><p>"I-I think that's t-the s-signal," Bill says. He, Ben, Beverly, Mike, and Stan turn towards the soft stairwell. As Richie predicted, Eddie stays put, still lost in his thoughts. Bill takes his hand. "He'll be f-fine." After a moment, Eddie relents, and the group bolts for the stairs.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The hallways are left a mess in Richie's wake. Posters, flyers, and announcements litter the floor, providing a chaotic trail that leads up the north stairwell to the gymnasium.</p><p>When Principal Gray bursts through the gymnasium's doors, Richie's chucking basketballs at the net. He misses every shot, but throws his arms up and mimics a cheering crowd after a ball ricochets off the rim. "Tozier!" Gray yells.</p><p>Richie ignores him. "Three seconds left on the clock!" he gasps. He turns and tosses the ball over his head. When the ball actually falls through the net with a swish, Richie explodes. "THE CROWD GOES WILD!" He pumps his fist in the air and starts jumping in place. Gray charges forward and sinks his claws into Richie's shoulder.</p><p>"What do you think you're doing?" Venom drips from the principal's plump lips.</p><p>Richie puts on his best brave face. With a shrug, he quips, "I'm thinking of trying out for a scholarship."</p><p>"You're looking for a free ride?" Gray asks angrily. "I've got one for you."</p><p>Gray huffs, closes his fist around the fabric of Richie's Hawaiian shirt, and drags him out of the gymnasium.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>The group's escape is a success. They reclaim their usual spots in the library and sit anxiously on their hands.</p><p>For the umpteenth time, Eddie asks, "do you think Richie is okay?"</p><p>"Relax," Beverly says. "Richie can take care of himself."</p><p>"Gray is going to be pissed," Mike sighs. "He might actually kill Richie."</p><p>"Don't worry!" Ben interjects with a hopeful smile. "Maine law has strict limitations on educators' rights to use corporal punishment as a form of discipline for students..." Ben notices five disinterested stares, which tell him he's failed to raise morale.</p><p>Eddie stands. "Maybe we should go look for him?"</p><p>"He'll be fine," Stan deadpans. He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. "He just pulled that stunt to impress you."</p><p>"What are you even talking about?" Eddie raises an eyebrow defensively.</p><p>The other five exchange looks and snicker. "You know," Stan says.</p><p>"Uh no, I really don't!"</p><p>"E-Eddie, come on," Bill says.</p><p>Eddie turns to snap at him but falls into his seat when the sound of approaching footsteps hits his ears. When the library doors open, he leans forward with a hopeful grin, but his expression falls at the sight of Gray dragging Richie by the collar of his shirt. "What's going on?" he asks softly.</p><p>Neither Richie nor Gray reply. The principal releases his hold on Richie only to shove him towards his table. "Richie?" Eddie twists and watches Richie gather some supplies off his table. He turns back to Gray, who appears ready to combust. "What's going on?" Eddie asks a second time.</p><p>"I'm afraid you'll be without Mr. Tozier's company for the remainder of the day," Gray says snidely.</p><p>"Come on Gray, they'll die of boredom without me," Richie sighs sarcastically.</p><p>The principal's anger matches the rage he directed at Beverly that morning. "You really think so?" he bellows. When Richie nods, Gray lets out a mocking laugh. "Take a look around, Mr. Tozier. You think any of them will miss your smart mouth?" Richie dares to glance around but finds everyone staring reluctantly down at the floor; he frowns.</p><p>"They won't know what they've got until it's gone," is Richie's attempt at a comeback.</p><p>"You think you're so funny, don't you?" Gray asks as Richie pushes past him towards the door. "The only joke here is you." Gray leads Richie out into the hall. At the last second, right before the door clicks shut, the principal turns out his shoulder, points a finger at the group, and yells, "essays!"</p><p>Eddie puts his head down on the desk, and Ben opens his notebook and begins writing.</p><p>No one breaks the silence.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Gray drags Richie to the utility closet at the end of the hall. He holds the door open and waves his hand impatiently until Richie squeezes inside.</p><p>The closet is dark and tight; Richie nearly trips on the mop against the wall, and then the rolling garbage can standing in the middle of the closet. The chain to the ceiling light dangles right next to his head. Richie reaches for it but stumbles back in shock when the light clicks on, Gray's long fingers already wrapped around the chain.</p><p>"Sit!" the principal barks.</p><p>Richie looks around unsure of himself. His eyes settle on a ladder, and he awkwardly hovers over one of its steps.</p><p>"You like it in here, Richie?" Gray asks. It's intimidating for Richie to hear the man use his first name. "This is where you belong. You know that, don't you?" Richie crosses his arms and fights to avoid eye contact. In such a tight space with a flickering light, it's nearly impossible. Gray leans in, encompassing his vision. </p><p>"Alone, <em>forgotten</em>." Gray continues. He smiles with full teeth when Richie squeezes his forearm. "I might even forget to come get you. And I'm sure your little friends won't care enough to remind me." A muscle in Richie's cheek spasms. "All your cries for attention and this is where you end up. Was it worth the five seconds of having all eyes on you?"</p><p>Gray pauses as if he's waiting for an actual answer. Richie says nothing. "That's what I thought," the principal cackles. Gray's fingers lace together and he taps his knuckles. "I've spent a long time trying to figure you out. Every stupid joke, every trip to my office because you don't know how to shut your goddamn mouth. Why would such a forgettable boy cry out for attention?"</p><p>Richie clenches his jaw and glares at his shoes. "My mom doesn't hug me enough," he grumbles. "Sue me."</p><p>Gray laughs again. "Oh no, no," he shakes his head, "that can't be it. It's too easy, what you'd like us all to think, hmm? No, your parents are perfectly pleasant, aren't they?" Gray watches Richie's eyes slowly widen with sadistic glee. "You're smarter than they all think, Richie. You don't just want attention, you want to <em>control</em> what kind of attention you get."</p><p>Richie begins tapping his foot, and his next breath shakes.</p><p>"If we're all busy laughing at your little jokes, we won't notice who you really are," Gray clears his throat, "excuse me, <em>what</em> you really are."</p><p>Finally, Richie shoots his gaze up at Gray, fire burning in the whites of his eyes. "You're full of shit."</p><p>Gray's unphased. "It seems I've discovered your dirty little secret." The principal giggles like a child as Richie sinks into himself. Suddenly, Gray slaps his knees and lets out a guttural laugh. "This really is where you belong!"</p><p>Richie feels a tingle at the corner of his eye. He fights the urge to act but ultimately gives in, pushing his glasses aside to rub his eye. When he lowers his hand, he discovers his palm is wet.</p><p>Satisfied with the damage he's done, Gray turns to leave. As he pulls open the door, he glances at Richie over his shoulder. "What's worse, Richie?" he taunts. "Them forgetting all about you or hating who you really are?" After a beat of silence, the principal snickers one final time. "How about you make that the subject of your essay?"</p><p>The door shuts, and its lock clicks.</p><p>Richie listens to Gray's fading footsteps and merry whistling. Once the hall is silent, Richie slides off the ladder onto the floor. He stretches out his legs, feet pressed against the door. He smacks the back of his head against the wall and releases a string of infuriated cusses.</p><p>He heaves, and tears start to flow.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>It's one-o-seven.</p><p>Stan is three hundred words into his essay when his pencil breaks. "Fuck," he hisses. He swipes the fragments of lead off his paper and gasps when he accidentally smears his page. He scrapes his tongue, contemplating starting over, and a metaphorical weight settles on his shoulders when he decides against it. He opens the front pocket of his backpack and retrieves a sleek pencil case. Popping it open, Stan frowns when all he sees are black and red pens. He swears again under his breath.</p><p>He scans the library and finds nobody else is working. He considers asking Beverly for a pencil; he knows she has at least one hidden away in her klepto bag, but pride interferes. After every fiasco she's dropped them in today, Stan refuses to ask for her help.</p><p>A pencil's eraser is protruding from under Eddie's elbow. That's a safer bet. Stan opens his mouth but says nothing because Eddie sighs longingly at the same time. Stan looks away, deeming it better to leave Eddie be.</p><p>Then, like a lighthouse spotting a ship of weary sailors, Ben enters Stan's peripheral. Stan notices he's writing, and a wave of hope washes over him. "Hey, Ben." Ben looks up and subtly covers his paper with his arms. "Do you have an extra pencil?"</p><p>"Oh..." Ben leans down to fiddle through his bag, and Stan waits impatiently. The sounds of crumpled up paper and loose folders tell Stan Ben's bag is a chaotic storm; he winces, barely able to imagine that level of anxiety-inducing mess. To distract himself, Stan peers at Ben's paper. There's hardly anything written, just a few lines with gaps between them. Stan tries to decipher them, but reading upside down isn't his strong suit.</p><p>As Ben sits up with a dull pencil in his hand, Stan asks, "what's that?"</p><p>Ben's eyes shoot from the pencil to Stan, then back to the pencil. "What's what?"</p><p>Stan points at the piece of paper. "That."</p><p>Ben's jaw drops in terror. He covers the words with his palm and drags the paper away. "Nothing!"</p><p>Stan raises an eyebrow. "Is that your essay?"</p><p>"No! It's—"</p><p>"A story or something?"</p><p>"Probably poetry, right?" Mike approaches. If he could die from embarrassment, Ben would be six feet under. Mike looks to Stan, "he's in the poetry club, remember?"</p><p>Stan nods; he shifts in his seat to face them, his essay forgotten. "So you write poetry too?"</p><p>"No!" Ben shouts. "I just read it!"</p><p>Beverly strolls up. "What are we talking about?"</p><p>"We think Ben's writing poems," Mike tells her.</p><p>Nevermind, <em>now</em> Ben would be dead in the ground from shame. "No, I'm not," he insists desperately.</p><p>The trio looks unconvinced. Bill and Eddie don't join in, but they watch from their table. "Come on Ben," Beverly smiles. "Nothing to be ashamed of. We're all friends now, right?" Bill, Eddie, Mike, and Stan shrug, though they're half-hearted at best. "Let's hear it."</p><p>In a last-ditch effort, Ben crumples up his paper, but that doesn't stop Beverly from reaching for it. Just when Beverly's fingers brush against the edges of the ball, an earth-shattering crash and a terrified "OOOOH SHIT" shake the library.</p><p>Everybody turns to the back of the library. After a split second, Eddie recognizes the scream and hops to his feet. He takes off towards the source of the noise; Beverly, Bill, and Mike are right behind him. They huddle around Richie, who's face down on the floor, covered in plaster, encyclopedias, and an overturned book cart. Their heads turn up to find a Richie-shaped hole in the ceiling.</p><p>Eddie bends over to help Richie to his feet. "Are you fucking crazy?" he shrieks. </p><p>"Forgot my pencil," Richie shrugs. "So!" he wipes the dust off his chest, "who missed me?" Beverly giggles, Bill offers him a weak smile, and Eddie tries to fight off his faint blush.</p><p>"<em>You're</em> cleaning that one up," Mike pats Richie on the shoulder.</p><p>"Guys!" comes Stan's voice from the front of the library. "Gray's coming!"</p><p>They scramble back to their seats, but once Beverly, Bill, Eddie, and Mike are settled in, Richie realizes he hadn't thought this part through. "Shit," he rubs the back of his head, "I'm fucked..."</p><p>"Come on!" Eddie groans. He grips Richie's forearm and yanks him down. "Hurry!" Eddie kicks Richie's butt until the latter crawls under the table.</p><p>Richie's hidden the instant Gray blasts through the door. "What the hell is going on in here?" The six kids play dumb; they exchange confused glances and respond with a mixture of shaking heads and shrugging shoulders. Gray doesn't buy it. "What was that ruckus?!"</p><p>"R-ruckus?" Bill asks.</p><p>"Yes! A r-r-ruckus!" the principal mocks him. "I was in my office, and I heard a ruckus."</p><p>"We didn't hear any ruckus," Mike says.</p><p>"Don't play dumb with me!" Gray snaps his fingers. "I know I heard a ruckus."</p><p>"Could you describe the ruckus, sir?" Stan asks snickering.</p><p>When Gray turns to Stan, it looks as if steam might blow from his nose and ears. "Watch it, Uris!" the principal bites. "Any more smart ass comments, and you'll be joining Tozier, understand?" Stan folds his hands and stares down at his paper with wide eyes. </p><p>A bump under Eddie and Bill's table breaks the tension. Gray asks, "what was that?" just as Bill wraps the table with his knuckle to cover the sound.</p><p>"W-What was what?" Bill asks.</p><p>Another bump and Mike quickly plays a beat on his table.</p><p>"There!" Gray shouts.</p><p>"We really don't know, sir," Eddie says, "We're just sitting h<em>-eer—"</em> Eddie freezes with a slacked jaw and a warm blush. Everyone turns to him, Bill with suspicious brows. Eddie releases a mousy whimper, and Beverly's lips curve in realization. </p><p>Eddie stomps his foot, and Richie lets out a pained cry underneath the table. To cover the sound, the rest of the group starts coughing; through his coughing, Eddie continues to stomp.</p><p>Once Richie quiets down, the coughs subside. "Is that the ruckus you heard?" Stan asks after clearing his throat.</p><p>"We all h-have a-allergies," Bill says.</p><p>Eddie nods. "Mine are especially bad." His voice is higher, almost like a squeal.</p><p>Principal Gray glares at them. "No, that was <em>not</em> the ruckus I heard," he snarks. Much to his disdain, he finds nothing he can charge any of them with at the moment. He scowls, "no more monkey business, understand me?" Six heads nod frantically. Gray takes his leave, venting his irritation out by slamming the door.</p><p>Beverly explodes into laughter, and it isn't long before everyone but Eddie joins in. The petite boy angrily scoots his chair back to let Richie crawl out from under the table. As soon as Richie's head emerges, Eddie begins pounding it with his tiny fists. "You fucking pig!" </p><p>Richie cackles, unaffected. "Sorry," he jests. "My hand slipped."</p><p>Eddie seals his lips and crosses his legs tightly.</p><p>"Well!" Beverly stands with her bag wrapped over her shoulder. "Anyone else feeling a bit stressed?" She reaches into her bag and pulls out Henry Bowers' weed. "I need to unwind after all that shit."</p><p>"Oh no!" Stan prods with narrowed eyes. "You're not blazing up in here."</p><p>"Blah, blah, blah," Beverly waves her hand dismissively, already on her way to the computer lab.</p><p>Richie slaps Eddie's shoulder and takes off after her. Ben eagerly follows as well. Bill shrugs and ventures in their direction. Mike stands as Bill passes him, and the two make small talk on their way towards the computer lab.</p><p>Stan and Eddie are left sitting. Eddie twiddles his thumbs, twitching under each tick of the clock. Stan continues to look irritated, even if no one is around to receive the brunt of his frustration. After a few moments, they stare at each other. Stan identifies Eddie's expression immediately; the boy is biting his lip and resisting the urge to glance behind him. Stan shakes his head and firmly whispers "don't."</p><p>Eddie doesn't listen. With a long sigh, he gets up and drags his feet after the rest of the group, running a hand through his hair as he goes.</p><p>Alone, Stan throws his head back and groans. "Shit."</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>For a first time smoker, Ben catches on fast.</p><p>At first, he's reluctant to accept the joint Beverly rolled for him, but after a few puffs, he's so relaxed, he might slide out of his chair. Ben waves his arms wildly to grab Beverly's sunglasses. He puts them on with a satisfied hmm, then looks to the others. "Hey, who am I?" </p><p>Beverly blows smoke in his face. "Who?"</p><p>Ben bursts into a fit of giggles. "I don't know! I thought you would!" The group laughs.</p><p>Beverly deals out to the rest of them; Mike holds up a hand to politely decline. Eddie is hesitant, hand trembling as Beverly places the joint between his index and middle finger. Richie pulls a pack of matches from Beverly's bag and lights one. "Can I do the honors, Eds?"</p><p>Eddie leans forward, and Richie ignites the end of his joint. The five watch him in anticipation, as if his first drag is some spectacular event. Cautiously, Eddie brings the cigarette to his mouth and inhales. A millisecond later, he launches into a coughing fit, clouds of smoke bursting from his mouth and nose. Everyone laughs, but Eddie doesn't inch away. Staring at Richie, Eddie takes another hit. This time, he coughs less.</p><p>"The boy cannot hold his smoke," Ben drawls in a hillbilly accent. "That's what it isssssss." </p><p>Bill handles his joint with ease; after an exhale, he playfully chomps at the tiny clouds of smoke.</p><p>"Gee, I didn't know you smoke," Richie says to Bill as he shares Eddie's joint. "How come we never blazed it up?"</p><p>"You're full of shit, Richie," Beverly says. She snatches her glasses from Ben. "This is your, what, third time ever smoking?" Richie jabs her side; when they meet eyes, Richie cocks his head at Eddie and mumbles something. Beverly rolls her eyes, but she gets the message. "Nevermind, you are the most badass stoner I know," she deadpans.</p><p>"Yeah, and I'm Mr. T," Mike says. Everyone keels over in laughter.</p><p>Eddie continues to take drags and starts sagging in his chair. "My mommy loves me so much," he sighs. He looks to Richie. "You know how much? She loves me this much!" Eddie holds out his hands and pulls them as far apart as his arms can reach.</p><p>"Poor b-baby," Bill snickers.</p><p>"Hey, Bill!" Ben shouts. When Bill turns to him, Ben raises his hand. "Up high!" Bill high fives him with enough intensity that both hands slap down on Ben's nose, toppling the boy over the arm of his chair.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Once their initial highs wear off, the atmosphere among the group is calm. Ben, Beverly, Bill, Eddie, Mike, and Richie build a camaraderie that fills the library with innocent jokes and silly stories about the differences and shocking similarities of their lives.</p><p>They discuss everything from favorite movies to ice cream flavors. Richie and Eddie have a spirited debate on the superiority of chocolate or vanilla, most of them siding with Richie that chocolate is superior. For the sake of being a contrarian, Beverly says she prefers vanilla, which prompts Ben to change his vote. Mike asks what they think about strawberry and receives five stuck out tongues for an answer. </p><p>Stan, however, keeps his distance. He finds the chatter distracting as he determines to finish his essay. When an argument about the best Star Wars movie begins, Stan groans and relocates to the fiction section of the library. It's slightly quieter, much to his satisfaction.</p><p>Then, just as Stan begins his essay again, Bill walks up.</p><p>"Are y-you still working on t-that stupid essay?" Bill asks. He sits on the mini couch beside Stan's table.</p><p>"We were told to," Stan says pointedly.</p><p>"But you k-know it d-doesn't matter, right?"</p><p>Stan responds by sighing, but Bill doesn't back down. "C-come hang out w-with us."</p><p>"I'd rather not," Stan replies curtly.</p><p>"Why?" Bill presses. "Don't y-you want to get t-to know us?" Stan shakes his head. "You s-said this morning that n-no one ever c-cares to get to k-know you. At l-least give us a chance."</p><p>"Maybe I don't want us to get to know each other," Stan bites, causing Bill to recoil. "Ever think of that?"</p><p>"Your middle name is Jacob." Bill and Stan turn to watch Mike casually stroll up. "Your birthday's July 13th. You're 5'8, your blood type is A positive, and your social security number is 091-51-9860."</p><p>Mike sits next to Bill, and Stan looks at him in horror as Bill chortles. "T-that all true?" Bill asks.</p><p>Stan sneers at him. "Shut up," he then turns to Mike, "how the fuck do you know all that?"  </p><p>With a humored huff, Mike reaches into his pocket; he pulls out Stan's wallet and tosses it to him. "You dropped this."</p><p>Stan scrambles to hide his wallet away. "Look," he gestures to Mike, "an honest thief. Gee thanks."</p><p>Mike folds his arms. "I'm not a thief. Instead of assuming somebody took it, how about you try keeping track of your shit?"</p><p>Stan lowers his glare in guilt. "Sorry..."</p><p>Mike doesn't acknowledge the apology. "Nothing in there worth stealing anyway," he says. "Three bucks and the world's shittiest fake id."</p><p>Bill perks up. "Y-you have a fake i-id?" he asks Stan. He and Mike exchange snickers as Stan looks towards the floor. It isn't lost on him that he's the last person among them who would be carrying a fake. "W-What do use it for?"</p><p>"Booze probably," Mike smirks playfully.</p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Stan scoffs, "so I can vote, asshole." He speaks with a surety that implies his answer should be obvious. The statement hangs in the air for a moment; when it sinks in, Bill and Mike decide it checks out and they nod.</p><p>"We playing show and tell?" Beverly asks. She hops over the couch and squeezes between Bill and Mike. The fit is tight, but neither boy complains when Beverly ends up in their laps.</p><p>Stan watches Beverly pull her bag off her shoulder and rapidly shakes his head. "No, we're not!"</p><p>Too late.</p><p>Beverly tips her bag over and an avalanche of objects pours onto the floor between the couch and table. Office supplies, a box of tampons, candy bar wrappers, a t-shirt, several pairs of shorts, newspaper clippings, multiple packs of cigarettes, half a dozen lighters, Maine themed postcards, several pages torn out of a phonebook, and everything else blends into the pile.</p><p>"Feast your eyes boys," Beverly says, proud of her hoarding.</p><p>A drop of sweat rolls down Stan's temple as he scratches his cheek. "Do you always keep this much shit in your bag?"</p><p>"Yeah," Beverly exhales. "I always keep this much shit in my bag."</p><p>"Why?" Mike asks.</p><p>Beverly shrugs. "Cause you never know."</p><p>"You never know what?" Stan asks.</p><p>"W-When you'll need to leave," Bill says.</p><p>Beverly looks at him. Up close, Bill notices the muscles in her face are tight, clenching. Even with the eased smirk sketched across her features, Bill sees something different. He doesn't need her to say anything to know he's right; for someone who seems so forthcoming, it's clear Beverly hates being found out. Finally, she replies with a dry, "yeah."</p><p>Bill isn't sure if it'll comfort her, but he says, "I g-get it. S-Sometimes, I w-wish I could leave."</p><p>Stan pushes his paper aside. "Why?"</p><p>Bill tries to look at anything and anyone besides Stan; somehow, his gaze still ends on him. "I dunno," he says; it's obvious to the rest of them that he does know. "M-My life is un-unsatisfying."</p><p>"Unsatisfying?" Stan asks unimpressed. Bill wonders if it's revenge for their trip to the soda machine.</p><p>"Yeah," Bill says, finding some fire in his voice.</p><p>If anyone appears unsatisfied, it's Stan. "So you'd really run away and live on the streets because you think your life is unsatisfying?" </p><p>Bill's lips tighten, unsurprised by the skepticism he'd predicted but is disappointed regardless. "I d-don't have to live on the s-streets," he retorts defensively. He glances up at the world map hung on the wall behind Stan and sighs longingly. "I could l-live in Los Angeles. Or N-New York. London. P-Paris. Africa. J-Japan."</p><p>"You could go anywhere," Beverly muses. "Be anyone."</p><p>Bill nods. "E-exactly."</p><p>Stan isn't sure how to reply. He can't conceal the difficulty he's having with wrapping his head around the idea, the impulsivity Bill and Beverly express with ease. He feels a knot in his chest that one might consider envy. To avoid addressing it, he leans over the gap between the couch and the table, towards Mike. "You want to get in on this?" Stan asks him. "Bill and Bev are aspiring runaways because their lives are 'unsatisfying.'" The way he places the final word in air quotes earns him glares from Bill and Beverly that he feels are unwarranted. </p><p>Mike isn't sure what Stan expects him to say; he doesn't waste time on speculation. "Everybody's life is unsatisfying," he says casually. When Mike and Bill lock eyes, Bill's guise softens. "That's why we do anything, right? To be happier? To be less unsatisfied? If everyone was satisfied all the time, things would always stay the same."</p><p>"Insightful," Beverly smiles.</p><p>Stan shakes his head. "I get that," he says, "but I think everybody here has a different perspective on what constitutes unsatisfying." Truthfully, Stan's head spins. Whether she meant to or not, Beverly painted them a clear picture at lunch; her desire for escapism comes as no surprise to Stan. But Bill? Their quiet, reluctantly elected leader? If Beverly has it terrible at home, Bill's situation must be unbearable.</p><p>Bill misinterprets Stan's words as hostile. "F-Forget it," he snaps, standing abruptly.</p><p>"No, no!" Stan holds his hand out. "I didn't mean it that way. It's just...what's the problem?" Stan can't decide what he hopes to receive in return, but he knows he feels dejected when Bill doesn't sit back down. "If you want to talk about it—"</p><p>Bill interrupts him, "there's n-nothing to talk a-about."</p><p>"That's not true," Stan pushes. "You come sit over here and tell us you want to skip town, but then you want us to think that's nothing?" Stan rises to his feet as well.</p><p>"I w-was just talking out m-my a-ass," Bill says; he begins searching for an exit route. "L-leave it a-alone."</p><p>"No," Stan says. "Do you really want to run away?" Bill's eyes start to gloss over. Stan pities him, and he uses that to justify not letting up. "Or do you just want someone to want you to stay?"</p><p>Bill's Adam's apple bobs down then back up. Through gritted teeth, he whispers, "fuck off," and retreats.</p><p>Stan watches him go, and he can't bring himself to call after Bill. Suddenly, he feels the weight of judgment on him; he wants to believe Beverly and Mike are the sources, but Stan knows his insecurity comes from elsewhere. Despite what he knows to be true, Stan's defenses rise back to his surface. He turns to Beverly and Mike pleadingly. "There's something there, right?"</p><p>The clock ticks several times before Mike takes a breath. "Of course there is," he says. "But that's not what it's about."</p><p>"Then what is it about?" Stan asks.</p><p>"Caring," Beverly replies matter-of-factly. "Being gentle, making him feel safe, letting him know it's okay to feel how he feels."</p><p>"Listening to him the way you'd want to be listened to," Mike adds.</p><p>Stan lets their words seep into his brain. In hindsight, the revelation is so obvious, like common sense, and Stan resents himself for not considering it. He hopes it isn't too late. He bows his head in appreciation and sets off in the direction Bill went.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Richie and Eddie are still hanging around the computer lab, engulfed in their own game of show and tell. Eddie is running his hands through all the trash Richie pulled from his pockets while Richie rummages through Eddie's fanny pack.</p><p>Eddie slides the lint onto the floor. He finds the screw from the deadbolt and laughs; Richie watches Eddie chuck the screw up to the second floor. It doesn't take much longer for Eddie to explore all that there is. The last things to sort through are small cards — the size of baseball cards — of curvy women in scanty bikinis. Eddie assumes they're Playboy models.</p><p>"Who are these girls?" Eddie teases, holding up the cards between his stubby fingers.</p><p>Richie grins. "The redhead's my morning wood, the blonde's a bathroom break spank, and the brunette's my nightcap." </p><p>Eddie sticks out his tongue and grimaces. "You're being so disgusting right now."</p><p>"What?" Richie asks. "They're hot and I'm horny. What's the deal?"</p><p>"You think they're hot?"</p><p>"Fuck yeah," Richie answers a bit too quickly. "Don't you?"</p><p>Eddie flips the cards back to stare at the girls. They aren't ugly by any stretch of his imagination, but he struggles to find them attractive. Maybe it's because they're models, dressed like whores. He decides that's why. Unwilling to vocalize that, he rolls his shoulders. "Yeah, I guess."</p><p>Richie sees right through him. "Bullshit." Eddie doesn't argue. "Enlighten me, Eds. What kind of girls are you into?" </p><p>"I dunno. I like girls that are nice." Richie laughs haughtily, which provokes Eddie's temper. "The hell's wrong with that?"</p><p>"Nice?" Richie exaggerates the sound of every letter. "She just needs to be nice, and your dick's hard?"</p><p>"Ew no!" Eddie recoils. "I mean, she needs to be good for me, or something."</p><p>"So she's gotta be nice, and pretty and a good cook and she has to take care of you and listen to everything you say and laugh at all your jokes? Shit like that?" When Eddie nods, Richie scoffs. "That's fucking stupid."</p><p>"No, it's not. That's just the way it's supposed to be."</p><p>Richie raises his eyebrows in irritation. "Who says?"</p><p>"Who says what?"</p><p>"Who decides the way things are supposed to be?" Richie asks. Eddie opens his mouth to reply, though the only thing to slip past his lips is an empty breath. "And why should we give a fuck about what they think?"</p><p>"Don't ask stupid questions like that." Eddie places the cards on the table and looks away.</p><p>Richie dodges the subject by dumping the contents of Eddie's fanny pack onto the table. "How come you have so much shit in here?" There's the blue pill case, band-aids, breath mints, a miniature bottle of hand sanitizer, and a post-it note with several phone numbers written on it.</p><p>"Oh, I don't know," Eddie says sardonically. "For health and safety and shit."</p><p>"Didn't we already go over this?" Richie asks. "None of this shit does anything for you."</p><p>"Fuck you, that's not true!" Eddie snatches his fanny pack back and scoops up his things into his arms. "I just..." the tip of his tongue sneaks past his lips... "need all this stuff, okay?" He finds himself at a loss for further words; he knows it to be true, and that's all he can say about it.</p><p>Abruptly feeling defensive, Richie swipes his cards. "Well, I need my shit too." </p><p>Both boys stand at the same time and walk off in opposite directions.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Bill seeks refuge in the librarian's office. He spins leisurely on the rolling chair. His thoughts swivel, and he endures a series of conflicting emotions colliding with each other at every angle. Anger, resentment, longing —<em> grief</em>. His inability to decide how he feels frustrates him, though the Rolodex always halts on that last sensation without fail.</p><p>For once, Bill wishes he could escape the burden of responsibility, find the freedom he'd boasted about. With no other way to spend today than lost in his own mind, how he reliably comes up empty is deafening.</p><p>There's a weak knock against the ajar office door, alerting Bill that he isn't alone. He pivots in the chair to find Stan in the doorway; he looks unsure of himself.</p><p>"Go a-away," Bill mutters. His voice matches the insecure aura of Stan's physicality.</p><p>"I came to say sorry," Stan says. When Bill doesn't respond, Stan realizes the intent doesn't count. Laughing nervously, he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad back there."</p><p>"I-It's fine." Bill trains his eyes on his hands dangling over the back of the chair.</p><p>Stan invites himself in and casually slides onto the librarian's desk. "So, do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>Bill rotates his chair back around. "Not really."</p><p>Stan runs a hand through his curly hair. "You said you wanted me to give you guys a chance. So here I am," he widens his arms, "tell me about it."</p><p>Bill rests his chin on the headrest. "I d-don't want to."</p><p>With a sigh of concession, Stan hops off the desk. "Alright, fine."</p><p>Bill will never understand what possesses him in this moment, but, as Stan steps away, his better judgment is hijacked by impulse. As Stan walks over the threshold, Bill exclaims, "you have problems!"</p><p>Stan pivots. "I have problems?" he scoffs.</p><p>"You're so obsessed with doing everything everyone tells you to do, and you think that makes you better than us," Bill says bitterly. Neither of them notices the absence of Bill's stutter. "That's a problem."</p><p>Stan's forehead bends in embarrassed wrinkles. "At least I keep my problems to myself," he says. "I don't go around dropping them on strangers like the rest of you."</p><p>"T-There you go again," Bill groans.</p><p>"Don't change the subject," Stan says callously. "You want people to know what's up with you, you want them to care." Bill's eyes swell up and he sniffles. Stan sizes him up and, suddenly, feels an unexplainable kinship. "But you don't think you deserve it." </p><p>When Bill says nothing, Stan swallows the lump in his throat. "So what is it? School?" Stan pauses to see if Bill will respond; he doesn't. "Your parents?" Bill twitches, inadvertently answering Stan's question. With a tight jaw, Stan asks, "is it bad?"</p><p>Through his trembling, Bill finds courage. "Y-Yeah..."</p><p>The air between them is thick; the cumulation of every unspoken connection they've shared today rises like heat. Stan doubts himself and wonders if they should venture any further. Bill does too, but his desire to be understood overrides every other neuron firing in his brain. Stan knows well enough; he rubs his nose and asks, "what do they do to you?"</p><p>As the sound of his own voice floats against his ears, Stan accepts that Bill will likely shy away from answering. That resignation fosters the wildest thoughts his imagination can conjure up. Stan catches his gaze wandering around Bill's neck, his hands, the spots of his arms past his sleeves. When Stan's eyes trail back up to Bill's face, the boys stare at each other with an unnerving, but comforting, intensity.</p><p>Eyes watering, Bill whispers, "they b-blame me."  </p><p>The color drains from Stan's face. "Yeah..." He doesn't need to ask for what.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Around two-forty-six, they find themselves sitting in a haphazard circle in the fiction section. Clockwise, it goes Bill, Stan, Richie, Beverly, Ben, Eddie, and Mike. Bill leans against a bookshelf. Stan sits with his legs out and his hands folded in his lap. Richie's legs are spread to claim as much space as possible. Beverly's lying on her side. Ben's sitting criss-cross applesauce. Eddie is hugging his knees. Mike is positioned at an angle that keeps him in the circle but leaves him slightly isolated.</p><p>Hoping to celebrate the ease in hostilities, Beverly conducts a game of would you rather. She asks Bill if he'd rather lick the bathroom floor or wear women's underwear for a day; he blushes and picks the latter, as does Eddie with a green face. Stan adamantly insists he'd rather give a ten-minute presentation with a boner than chew an old piece of Patrick Hocksetter's gum.</p><p>Once it's Ben's turn, Beverly does her worst.</p><p>"Come to school naked or eat one of the dissection frogs?" Ben asks in horror. Beverly laughs and nods, reveling in her cruelty. The others watch Ben with humored anticipation. Ben scratches his chin, "do I have to come in through the front or the back?"</p><p>"Front!" Beverly sniggers.</p><p>"Would it be in the winter or the spring?"</p><p>"Spring."</p><p>A few seconds pass, then Ben takes a deep breath. "I'd come to school naked."</p><p>"Like hell you would!" Richie reaches across Beverly to slap Ben's knee.</p><p>"What about you?" Mike asks Beverly.</p><p>Before she can answer, Eddie scoffs. "Come on, we all know she'd come to school naked."</p><p>Beverly's eyes narrow. "You're right," she says dismissively. "Everyone's already seen it, right?" </p><p>"Seriously?" Eddie asks.</p><p>"Oh yeah." Sarcasm drips off Beverly's tongue. "It's all true, I'm a total slut."</p><p>The boys take her word at face value; they share glances of disgust and judgment. "Are you being safe?" Stan asks her. "Does your doctor know you're sexually active?"</p><p>Beverly waves her hand in disinterest. "The only other person I've told is my shrink."</p><p>Hesitantly, Ben opens his mouth. "What did he do when you told him?" His tone makes it clear he fears the answer.</p><p>With a devious grin, Beverly leans into the center of the circle. "He called me a nymphomaniac. And then he nailed me."</p><p>"You're so full of shit," Mike rolls his eyes.</p><p>Beverly carries on as if Mike never spoke. "I don't think it counts as rape because I paid him."</p><p>"He's a-an adult!" Bill cries.</p><p>"And married too."</p><p>"You're so fucking disgusting," Eddie lowers. "Do you seriously have any idea how fucked you are?"</p><p>"Well," Beverly purses her lips, "the first few times—"</p><p>"You've done it more than once?" It looks like Eddie's eyes might pop out of his head.</p><p>Beverly shrugs. "He's hot."</p><p>"You're still fucked," Eddie says.</p><p>"C'mon, Eds." Eddie's attention snaps from Beverly to Richie. "Put yourself in Bev's shoes. What if you had a smoking hot shrink, and she wanted to fuck your brains out? You wouldn't let her?"</p><p>"No!" Eddie's cheeks begin to redden; Richie isn't sure if anger or embarrassment is responsible. "Would you?!"</p><p>Richie crosses his legs. "Sure would!" he beams.</p><p>Beverly chortles. "Bullshit, Richie."</p><p>"What?" Richie adjusts his glasses. "You don't think I'm up to it?"</p><p>"I dunno," Beverly rolls her shoulders. "I just don't think she'd be your type." Beverly throws air quotes around <em>type</em>.</p><p>"Ha Ha," Richie drawls. He crosses his arms tightly. "Fuck off. Everybody knows I'm great with the ladies." </p><p>"You t-talk so much s-shit," Bill says. "Everyone k-knows you're just a trash mouth."</p><p>"Whatever," Richie scoffs and turns his head away. "If I'm a trash mouth, you're a bunch of jealous virgins."</p><p>"Name one girl you've slept with," Ben demands spitefully. Richie looks to Ben, and the larger boy raises his eyebrows expectantly. "If you're such a stud, you've probably nailed a bunch of girls in town, right?" Richie's heart is too busy dropping into his stomach to realize he's being mocked.</p><p>When Richie's fingers start shaking, he begins toying with the hem of his shirt. "I don't need to prove anything to you assholes."</p><p>"You've walked around all day trying to prove yourself," Mike says. "You want us to think you're tough shit. Then you want to act like you know everything about us. Then you want us to think you're some edgy blazer. You're phony and you're hiding behind what you think we want to see."</p><p>Richie forces out an aggressive "HA" that matches Mike's morning outburst.</p><p>"That isn't true," Stan says. "He doesn't care what we think...just Eddie."</p><p>Five pairs of eyes land on Eddie, who, until this point, had been distracting himself by tracing lines on his knees. When Eddie's head turns up, Richie looks to the floor. "You don't know what you're talking about," Richie grumbles, pushing his glasses up along his nose.</p><p>"R-Really?" Bill asks. "Y-you fuck with him all d-day, you keep t-telling him he's g-gay, and you f-feel him up under the f-fucking table." Richie joins Eddie in blushing. "Just a-admit you like him."</p><p>"I don't!" Richie exclaims.</p><p>No one believes him. Voices begin to spin around him, rising like a stormy tide, closing in, stealing his breath, and suffocating him under the pressure of raw terror.</p><p>"We know it's true." — Stan.</p><p>"Just be honest." — Beverly.</p><p>"Stop lying." — Mike.</p><p>"You can tell us." — Ben.</p><p>"Come on, R-Richie." — Bill.</p><p>Their heckling grows louder, meshing into a buzz until Richie can't decipher who's saying what. Images play behind his eyes; sounds shake in his ears that take him someplace far from the library. He hears choking sobs, feels a foot colliding with his gut, sees pavement stained with blood and spit, smells the night air and fresh carnival food. Then, he sees Eddie, watching him with a dropped jaw and terrified eyes.</p><p>He swears he hears Eddie murmur his name, and that's the last straw. Richie finally explodes.</p><p>"I DON'T KNOW!" </p><p>The group falls silent; they watch Richie with contemplation. He doesn't notice, as he's too busy staring at his shoes with misty eyes and panting wildly. "I don't know, and I don't want to know! I don't fucking think about it!"</p><p>"Why not?" Beverly tries to rub his shoulder, but Richie winces away.</p><p>"Because," he laments. "I tell myself if I don't think about it, maybe it'll—" he trails off.</p><p>"Maybe it'll what?" Eddie inquires, throat bone dry.</p><p>"Maybe..." Richie and Eddie lock eyes again... "Maybe it'll go away."</p><p>"Why do you want it to go away?" Stan asks with empathetic eyes. "Is it because of your parents?"</p><p>Richie shakes his head and lets out a hollow laugh. "No. That's the fucking joke; I know they'd take it well. They wouldn't look at me any different. I think they'd love me even more for trusting them. They've always loved me, even when they don't understand me."</p><p>"So then what's the problem?" Stan wonders.</p><p>Richie doesn't answer right away. A few beats last an eternity; he drifts away, lost in mortifying thoughts he doubts he'll ever outrun. Eventually, he exhales until the air in his lunges is completely depleted. "You guys know Adrian Mellon?" he begins hesitantly.</p><p>Most of the group feels a vague familiarity with the name. Ben rattles his brain and remembers mentions of it in a newspaper clipping last summer, one of the first papers he read after moving to Derry. He opens his mouth to reply, but Eddie beats him to it with an injured, "yeah."</p><p>"It was the night of the carnival, the one right before school starts. Adrian is..." Richie pauses to take a breath. "He's...like me. And I saw him there that night, at the carnival. I was there with my parents and my sister, and it was her last night before she went back to college. I was trying to have a good time, but I kept noticing Adrian. He was always playing the same games that we were, or he was in the line right in front of us. Like it was fucking fate or something. Like I couldn't get away from him."</p><p>Richie draws his legs together. His palm sneaks under his glasses to wipe at his heavy eyelid. </p><p>"But I wanted to be around him," his voice hitches. "He was there with this other guy. And they were holding hands, and Adrian was telling all these fucking corny jokes, and the other guy was laughing. He won Adrian this teddy bear, and they were sharing cotton candy; shit like that. They...they were on a date." Richie's voice breaks, and he's unable to skate around the truth any longer. "They're gay.</p><p>"They're fucking gay. And it's supposed to be gross and wrong, but they looked so fucking happy, and that made me feel happy. It's like they were normal, and nothing was wrong with them. It made me think maybe I'm normal. Maybe it's okay to feel the way I do," it seems Richie speaks the next part only to Eddie, "to like who I like. Then, later that night..."</p><p>Richie trembles; this time when Beverly reaches out, he keeps still.</p><p>"They were leaving. Talking and laughing, just minding their own business. But these guys stopped them on the bridge by the river. They kept calling them fags and girls and shit. Adrian's boyfriend tried to walk away, but one of the guys pushed Adrian and...Adrian pushed him back."</p><p>Tears stream down Richie's face. The air within the circle chills.</p><p>"All the guys jumped on him. They kicked the fucking shit out of him. He was coughing up blood and crying; he started begging them to stop. They wouldn't let his boyfriend get to him. The guy was screaming; he said Adrian had...asthma. I thought they were going to fucking kill him right there in the middle of the carnival. Just because he's gay. And nobody even noticed."</p><p>A new series of sniffles joins Richie's: Eddie. Beverly covers her mouth.</p><p>"I saw it happen. It happened right in fucking front of me. And I did nothing. I just fucking stood there and watched."</p><p>"R-Richie," Bill sighs. "It's not your f-fault."</p><p>"I know!" Richie yells. "I don't blame myself for it. But I walked away, I went back to my family, pretended I never saw anything. And I was...relieved. Like, I kept thinking thank fuck that wasn't me. Thank fuck I wasn't bleeding out on the street while the whole town ignored me. Thank fuck that I...wasn't like him, that I wouldn't be like him...</p><p>"Maybe I am fake," Richie concludes. "Maybe I don't know who I am or what I want. Maybe I'm fucking empty and lonely and all that other shit. But at least nobody knows what I'm like. I'll keep it that way until I can get out of here. I won't end up like...that."  </p><p>Silence engulfs the room. Mike's face is hot with guilt; Ben won't look at anybody. Eddie desperately wants to say something, but he hides in his hands. To little surprise, Beverly is the one to disturb the quiet. "I get it," she says. "You give people what they want to see because they won't accept the real you." When Richie nods, Beverly smirks. "I'm not a nymphomaniac. Or a slut." The boys' jaws drop. "I've never done it. I'm a virgin."</p><p>When the shock of her truth settles like dust, Beverly catches herself incapable of describing how it feels. Refreshing? Uncontrollable? The emotion's name is irrelevant; at this moment, she decides the expectations she feared are far less intimidating than reality.</p><p>"But Bowers told everybody he fucked you," Stan says. "And you fucked Patrick, and Reggie, and Vic."</p><p>Beverly shakes her head. "All bullshit. They made it up because I wouldn't fuck any of them."</p><p>Ben frowns. "Then why didn't you ever say anything?" he implores. "The whole school thinks you're something you're not. Doesn't that piss you off?"</p><p>Beverly inspects her nails to feign disinterest. "Not really," she replies, nonchalant. "No one would have believed me if I said anything, so why waste my time? Besides," she tucks a red curl behind her ear, "it pisses my dad off more than me. And there's nothing better than making him miserable." Rarely has Beverly felt stupid; today, she's taken pride in her self-perceived skills in introspection. However, saying it out loud and watching Ben react prompts second guesses. Had she really been at ease? Not if this is what ease truly feels like.</p><p>"Still, you deserve better," Ben rubs the back of his neck. Beverly's cheeks glow a shade similar to his.</p><p>"So," Stan says, "are we all pretending to be someone we're not?"</p><p>Through his drying tears, Richie laughs. "Guess we've all got something in common."</p><p>"Some of us don't get a chance to pretend," Mike expounds. He strokes the carpet absentmindedly. "I can't hide the parts of myself that I don't want people to see. Everybody notices as soon as I walk in the room." Ben, Bill, Eddie, and Stan remember how they'd stared that morning. "You know I'm the only black kid in town?"</p><p>The other six exchange skeptical glances. "No way," Stan says. "That can't be right."</p><p>Mike raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Name one." Stan can't; none of them can. "People see the color of my skin, they see I don't look like them, and they assume things about me, and they don't even know they're doing it. They just see that I'm different, and they decide different is bad. That only got worse after my parents died."</p><p>Stroking the back of his head, Mike falls quiet. The restriction is comforting, predictable. Even if this taste of vulnerability is sweet, he doubts he wants to dive any deeper. It's only when Bill asks, "how so?" that Mike feels safe and welcome to continue.</p><p>"We're poor, and we live on a farm at the end of town, and of course they have to die in a fire. Everybody was whispering about it before they even pulled my parents' bodies out of the house." Now Mike is the one resisting an overwhelming urge to cry, and it's obvious he's on the brink of failing. "Nobody ever said they were sorry for my loss or asked if there was anything they could do for me. Everybody I knew ran for the hills because they thought my parents were on drugs or that I..." Mike doesn't finish that thought. Bill understands.</p><p>"No matter what, the whole town decided I'm worthless, that I don't belong. Gray gives me these detentions almost as much as Bev. I'm here every weekend, and you want to know why? Gray thinks I'm skipping, that I'm 'burning out,' and he thinks that's so fucking funny. He writes me up because I'm late to school every day. My grandpa runs the farm now; he stepped up, became a dad for me when I had nobody."</p><p>Mike bites his lip. "But he needs my help more and more. Every morning, I have to help him get out of bed, do my chores, make his deliveries. It's becoming my responsibility to take care of him, and I don't mind it. I'll stick around as long as I have to, do what I need to do. Because he's the only guy who's given me a chance. The only person who doesn't make me feel like an outsider." Finally, Mike lets his tears fall like rain.</p><p>"I tell myself I don't care what everyone thinks," Mike rasps. "But I do. I wish someone else would give me a chance. I want someone to see <em>me,</em> just me, and not anything else. I don't want to be alone anymore, but I don't have a choice." He looks to Richie and Beverly. "You two choose to be alone, and now I get why, but I never got the chance to pick. If I did, I'd want anything else but this."</p><p>"We see you," Ben tells him. "Now we do. Right?" The others nod in succession.</p><p>Mike smiles softly. He can't remember the last time he spoke this much. It's...cathartic. Maybe, he thinks, it's safe to talk. At least it is here.  </p><p>"Well!" Richie drums his thighs. "We know Bev lights up in the bathroom, and Mike plays hooky. How about the rest of us? What'd you guys do to end up in here?" Richie sends a playful glare to Bill. "Care to start us off, <em>El Presidente?</em>"</p><p>"E-Everybody already knows," Bill says meekly.</p><p>"Well yeah, the whole school watched you beat the shit out of Bowers," Mike notes fondly; the scene plays out in his memory, and he enjoys every frame of it. "But why'd you do it?"</p><p>"You know h-how he gets. I j-just got t-tired of it."</p><p>"But what he'd say this time?" Richie presses. "Insult your haircut? Say he fucked your mom? Dunk your face in the toilet?"</p><p>Bill digs his nails into his palms. "G-Georgie." The jest on Richie's face vanishes.</p><p>"Wait who?" Ben asks.</p><p>"His little brother," Beverly whispers into Ben's ear.</p><p>"H-He said I'd p-probably find his b-body in the s-sewer." Bill's resolve breaks quicker than Richie's or Mike's, which leaves him feeling powerless. Bill is convinced he deserves it.</p><p>Stan wraps his arm around Bill's shoulders. "You don't have to talk about it," he assures him.</p><p>"It's m-my fault," Bill chokes. "I k-know it is. He's g-gone because of m-me."</p><p>"Who's gone?" Ben asks. "Your brother?" Bill nods shamefully. "Bill, there's no way that's true. If Henry said that to you, he's full of shit." </p><p>Bill shakes his head. "H-He didn't s-say that. It's t-the truth." Bill wipes his sweaty palms on his pants; he draws them away, still clammy. "A-Almost a year a-ago. It w-was raining, and m-my parents w-were gone. I-I was supposed t-to watch G-Georgie. He wanted t-to go out a-and play. He w-wanted to p-play with m-me. But I...I—" Bill quivers, and Stan rubs his back — "d-didn't want to. I lied and said I was s-sick."</p><p>Something rises from Bill's stomach up into his throat; he swallows it down.</p><p>"H-He wanted to play with me s-so bad," Bill stutters on. "H-He begged me to c-come outside with him. I said no. I always p-played with him. I looked out for h-him and took c-care of him. I tried t-to be a good b-brother; I t-thought I was a g-good brother. Just t-this one time I w-wanted to stay in. Just one. I thought it'd be o-okay. I d-didn't know. And he...h-he never came b-back.</p><p>"We looked everywhere f-for him. There were p-posters and m-money; we did e-everything. But we n-never found him. And I feel s-so guilty. It's all I think a-about. I couldn't take it a-anymore. M-My mom cried w-when I told her the t-truth; it d-devastated her. My dad was s-so mad. He s-started shaking my shoulders. He was y-yelling, 'you should have gone with him.' H-He wouldn't s-stop. Why d-didn't I go with h-him? I should have g-gone with h-him!" Bill's voice rises into a scream, a shout directed inward. "I-I'm a s-shitty brother! It's my fault!"</p><p>"Honey, it's not your fault," Beverly says. Bill ignores her.</p><p>"And I'm so m-mad," Bill grunts, voice hoarse and raw. His hands ball into fists. "I-I'm mad all the t-time. I can't h-handle it w-when anyone says anything a-about G-Georgie. I blackout."</p><p>"Bill..." Richie sighs. "I didn't mean it when I said... I was just angry. I'm sorry."</p><p>"I'm sorry," Bill insists sternly. The reaction surprises Richie; it throws Bill for a loop as well, but neither of them questions it. "It's not y-your fault. I-I need to get better at c-controlling it, but it's hard. I won't let it h-happen to anyone e-else. I get so protective, but I end up hurting p-people. I stay a-away so I don't make t-things worse."</p><p>"If it makes you feel any better, Bowers deserves that busted nose," Eddie chuckles.</p><p>"Yeah," Beverly smiles. "Georgie would think that was fucking cool of you."</p><p>Bill accepts the compliments with hesitant grace. Face and voice still fragile, he asks, "Who's n-next?"</p><p>Ben raises his hand. "It's not a big story or anything super deep. You guys will probably think it's stupid. It's so boring, it's not even a real story, really. All I did was—"</p><p>"Spit it out, Jelly Roll!" Richie shouts.</p><p>"It won't be stupid," Mike promises Ben. "I think we're all meant to be here today. Whatever you did, it's important to us."</p><p>"Oh..." Ben's cheeks flush deeper. "I let Gretta and her friends cheat off my test. I guess they forgot to study, heh," the half-hearted laugh is a broken attempt at justification. Even now, Ben refuses to blame them. "No one ever really talks to me, y'know? Sometimes, I feel invisible; uh, actually, I kind of always feel invisible. And Gretta ignores me sometimes, but when she's not ignoring me, she's—"</p><p>"Being a bitch?" Beverly suggests.</p><p>"Uh, yeah," Ben nods. "But when she and her friends came into class that day, they were nice to me. They knew my name, and asked me questions, and pretended they were interested. Then Gretta said they'd forgotten there was a test. She asked if they could look off my paper. She said she'd let me join their group for the next class project." The release of his breath is half a sigh and half frustrated laugh. Ben sounds pathetic, especially to himself. For once, he sits on the receiving end of sympathetic glances; he's too busy pitying himself to notice.</p><p>"I've been trying to make friends all year. No one ever talks to me, except the teachers, I guess. Gretta told me she'd be my friend, so I let her copy my answers. Of course, we got caught. She wasn't very subtle about it. And we both failed the test, and I got detention. She and her friends thought it was funny, like it was a practical joke...like I was a joke."</p><p>"You're not a joke, Ben," Beverly says. That drags a soft expression out of him.</p><p>The glances Ben steals at the boys feel like pulling teeth. He expects ridicule, rejection, confirmation that his transgression is, in fact, ridiculous. Instead, Stan is nodding in understanding, and Eddie stretches his foot out to playfully tap Ben's.</p><p>"The joke is how low your standards are," Richie cuts in. "Gretta Keene's like a genital wart."</p><p>"How so?" Ben asks.</p><p>Richie shrugs. "Eh, I don't know; she's ugly and never fucking goes away."</p><p>Everyone laughs.</p><p>"Eddie's t-turn," Bill announces.</p><p>As Richie perks up, Eddie shrinks into himself. Does he really have to? The attentive hush that falls onto the group answers his question. "Last Tuesday, I was sick. Like really sick for real. I have these meds for my immune system, I've got to take them every day. My mom says my dad had a weak immune system too; she told me that's what killed him, so I've gotta take it every day. I'm not allowed to miss a dose, or else..."</p><p>"Or else what?" Ben frowns.</p><p>"I don't know." Eddie's voice is soft but unsteady; unsure but honest. "My mom just told me it'd be bad. I could end up in the hospital, but she says it'd probably be worse than that. I was supposed to pick them up Monday night, but I forgot. I didn't realize it until Tuesday morning when my mom asked. I lied to her. She wouldn't shut up, and I knew she'd be mad, so I just said I had them to get her off my ass.</p><p>"Anyway, I have to take them every day at 10:30. It's always in biology with Mr. Keene. But I didn't have them on Tuesday. I thought it would be fine; what would be the big deal of missing one day, you know? Like how bad could it be? But then my alarm went off, and I just...started feeling sick. I couldn't breathe, and I swore I was going to puke. I thought it was an asthma attack, but my inhaler didn't help. I was just sitting in class, and I felt like I was dying, and everybody was just, like, staring at me. I seriously thought my immune system was failing or some shit."</p><p>"You know that's not your immune system," Stan points out. "It's—"</p><p>"Mr. Keene came over and told me to calm down," Eddie doesn't miss a beat, but his grip on his knees tightens. "When I told him what was wrong, he said my immune system was fine. He said I was having a panic attack. He told me it was all in my head, a fucking placebo." They watch Eddie shake his head violently. "I said no because my mom said so. I told him what she told me. I asked to go to the nurse, and he said no. And I just..."</p><p>"What did you do?" Richie pushes.</p><p>"I started screaming." Eddie winces at the memory. "I was swearing and throwing shit, in front of everybody. And the weirdest part is, it was like I wasn't there. Like I was watching myself. Does that even make sense?" The others exchange glances and offer Eddie half-hearted nods in sequence. "I knew he was right, and I wanted to calm down, but I couldn't. It felt like the world was ending."</p><p>Telling the story prompts a flashback that Eddie nearly loses himself in. He begins panting, sweat collecting at his hairline, and brows scrunching together. He unleashes a sob as his hand dives into his fanny pack. A spurt from his inhaler subsides the worst of the panic attack, though Eddie still senses it brewing inside him.</p><p>Well enough to speak again, Eddie resumes his unsettling story. "Then, when it was over, I was sitting in Gray's office, and I had to call my mom and tell her what happened. And she...she..." his lip starts to quiver. "She's locked me in my room every day since. I'm not allowed to go anywhere or do anything. It's like I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house. She said she'll homeschool me next year—" Eddie lifts his pullover to wipe his swollen eyes — "this is the only place I can go to get away from her. I...I..."</p><p>"Say it!" Richie barks.</p><p>"I hate her!" Eddie screams through heavy tears. "I hate her! I hate her!" He pounds his fists on the floor and stomps his feet.</p><p>It takes close to a minute for Eddie's rage to temper. Once he's calmer, he gulps and picks back up. "I can't wait for graduation, I want to get as far away from her as I can...but I know I won't. She makes me feel like I can't leave, like I can't do anything without her. And what's shitty is, I know she's wrong, but I feel like she's right."</p><p>"Wow..." Richie whistles. "Norman Bates has nothing on you, Eds."</p><p>Five breaths catch, anxiously awaiting Eddie's response. The day's pattern helps them prepare for the worst, but they're all surprised when giggles spill from Eddie's mouth. Quickly, giggles evolve into open-mouthed, cheek straining laughter. Moisture runs from Eddie's eyes, though, this time, it's joyful. Richie shines with pride and pushes his glasses up his nose. "I'll be here all week, Eds." </p><p>Once Eddie's fit of laughter passes, curious faces turn to Stan. "Your turn," Bill tells him.</p><p>Stan shifts and scratches under his jawline. "I already told you I didn't do anything."</p><p>A chorus of pft's dances around the circle. "Yeah right," Richie says disbelievingly. "Beaverly's a virgin, Mike ran us through racism 101, Eds is a basket case, and I just came out of the closet. We're all pretty bizarre. No more hiding it."</p><p>Stan concedes. "Fine. I cheated."</p><p>Ben sits forward. Beverly waves her hand in front of her face like a fan. "Oh what horror!" she exclaims histrionically. Her head falls onto Ben's shoulder. "We're in the presence of an absolute delinquent." She predicts a sneer or curt rebuking, but Stan offers her neither.</p><p>"It wasn't just cheating. I, uh, plagiarized my APUSH paper." When Ben begins to ask, Stan beats him to it, "the whole thing. Word for word."</p><p>"Why'd you d-do it?" Bill asks.</p><p>"And why would you lie about that?" Mike adds. "It's not a big deal."</p><p>"You guys don't understand," Stan murmurs. "I forgot all about it. We received the assignment back in February, and it slipped my mind entirely. I've never missed an assignment; I'm supposed to stay on top of everything. I have to keep track of my responsibilities, do everything I need to do." </p><p>"Not w-what you need to d-do," Bill interjects.</p><p>"What do you mean?" Eddie asks.</p><p>"He d-doesn't think f-for himself," Bill answers bluntly.</p><p>"He's right," Stan admits. "My whole life, my dad has had these expectations, he's always telling me what makes someone a man: following the rules and traditions, taking responsibility, never making a mistake, doing everything right. The way he wants it. It's never-ending; no matter how well I do, there's always something to do next. Do my chores, read the Torah, start picking out colleges, but only ones he likes, keep on the honor roll, win for the mathletes, run the physics club. Be better than everyone, be the best, be a man." Stan delivers each command with growing intensity.</p><p>"Last Sunday, I'd spent all day cleaning the house and cooking dinner, and running drills for the mathletes. I got in bed just after midnight, and then I remembered...the Civil War essay. I hadn't even started writing it or taking any notes or anything. I had nothing, but I couldn't have nothing. I thought about how it would feel to get an F," Stan slices through the tension with a quiet laugh, "and, actually, I didn't think it'd be so bad. I'd never gotten one, but everybody else has. How bad could it be?</p><p>"While I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought of my dad." It's only now that Stan realizes he's been crying softly. "I thought of what he'd say when he found out I got an F because I didn't do the assignment. He'd tell me men don't avoid their responsibilities. Men get shit done, no matter what. I was scared of the pressure, scared of failing, scared of how my dad would look at me. Everything has to be perfect. I have to be perfect."</p><p>"One assignment doesn't mean anything," Mike says.</p><p>"But it does!" Stan insists. "I couldn't <em>not</em> hand something in. So I went downstairs, grabbed a book off the shelf, and copied it. I didn't even read it to see what I was writing down. I just took someone else's work and slapped my name on it, because I couldn't handle missing one assignment."</p><p>Stan rubs his arm awkwardly. He lets their expressions seep in; they're neutral, reserved. Stan interprets their restrained responses as judgment and grows combative. "I ended up with that F anyway," he snaps. "Gray called my dad and told him everything. I had to sit there and listen while my dad glared at me. And then Gray said they have to look into all my work. Gray wants to prove I'm a cheater, get my name off the honor roll."</p><p>"This is the only time you've cheated though, right?" Ben asks.</p><p>Stan screws his eyes shut and nods. "It doesn't matter. Plagiarism's a death sentence. No teacher is going to write me a letter of recommendation, Gray's doing everything he can to wipe everything I've accomplished off my record. My dad wants me to go into banking, to become an accountant. What school is going to take a plagiarist? Who's going to hand out a scholarship to a discipline case?" </p><p>"It doesn't matter," Beverly says sternly. "All that matters is what you want."</p><p>"I don't even know what I want," Stan clenches his fist over his mouth to hold back a sob, but the effort is useless. "I don't know what I want, or who I am. I feel like I'm a machine, doing everything he tells me. I'm not allowed to goof around or figure shit out. I don't get to be a kid. I have to be a man, I have to be better than everyone." Fearing what he's said, Stan cowers into himself. "And I don't think I'm better than anyone; it's the opposite. Every day, I look in the mirror, and I see myself...but I don't like what I see."  </p><p>"Y-You know something?" Bill rediscovers his voice. "I don't t-think any of u-us like what w-we see."</p><p>The losers glance around the circle; all of their faces are still twitching, cheeks puffy, noses running, eyes red. Tears are still drying, letting their skin glisten under the pale hue of the ceiling light. They've all cried and crumbled under the pressure of their confessions. And yet, each of them feels lighter, as if seven backs are carrying each weight instead of just one.</p><p>These realizations hit all seven of them simultaneously, and they share a series of breathy laughs. </p><p>"We're all fucked up," Beverly howls.</p><p>Richie nods. "Let's all be fucked up together."</p><p>"Can I ask you guys a question?" Ben pipes up. He waits for the laughs to settle down before continuing. "Are we all together now? Are we friends?" Ben watches everyone nod at him. "I mean, on Monday? Are we going to hang out like this at school? Because I consider you guys my friends, not just in here, but in the real world too." No one speaks for a few seconds, and Ben frowns. "I'm not wrong, am I?"</p><p>"I w-would hang out w-with you guys," Bill says. Richie looks up in surprise; when the former friends lock eyes, Bill bows his head. "All of y-you."</p><p>"You guys' friends wouldn't mind you being seen with me?" Mike asks.</p><p>"Let's all cut the shit, none of us have any friends!" Richie exclaims comedically.</p><p>"But what if you did?" Mike revises. "What if we all did have our own friends?"</p><p>"I think...my friends wouldn't be the kind of people who would mind," Ben answers.</p><p>"Hey!" Beverly calls out to Eddie and Stan, who are avoiding eye contact. "What about you two? Are you going to be friends with the rest of us on Monday?" She watches the two boys exchange shameful stares, and she already knows what they're nonverbally communicating.</p><p>"Do you want the truth?" Eddie asks in a feeble voice.</p><p>Though the question was aimed at Beverly, Ben responds, "yeah."</p><p>Eddie appears torn, divided down the middle of his psyche. He debates the answer already sitting on the tip of his tongue. When he can't procrastinate the inevitable any longer, Eddie hangs his head in shame. "I don't think so." </p><p>Ben's heart visibly breaks. With a sniffle, he aims his gaze down at the floor.</p><p>"With all of us?" Mike asks Eddie pointedly. With eyes narrowed in resentment, he adds, "or just Richie?"</p><p>Eddie looks to Richie, who raises an accusatory eyebrow, effectively asking the same question. Eddie knows what he truly wants to say, but, with all eyes on him, he picks what he believes to be the safer option. "With all of you."</p><p>"Speak for yourself," Stan bites. "I'm not shitty like that."</p><p>"Oh fuck off, Stan," Eddie spits vehemently. He turns his attention to the rest of them. "All of you fuck off. Stop bullshitting yourselves, we'd never be friends, and you all know it." First, he zeroes in on Stan. "If Ben invited you to the poetry club on Monday, what would you do?"</p><p>When Stan says nothing, Eddie answers for him: "You'd come up with some excuse why you can't, and then dodge him for the rest of the year so you don't have to keep turning him down. And you," he aims at Bill next. "Bowers already wants you dead, would you really put a bigger target on your back by hanging around Mike or Bev? You wouldn't and you know it. You'd ignore them both in the hall to avoid the attention."</p><p>"What about you?" Beverly demands. "What if Richie sits at your lunch table? Or what if I come by your house and ask to hang out? Are you going to pretend we don't exist?"</p><p>In uncensored shame, through a choked sob, Eddie shrugs. "Same exact thing. We'll all go back to normal on Monday, just watch."</p><p>Something inside Richie catches fire. "YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT!"</p><p>Eddie's mouth hangs open and his eyes begin to water again. "Because I'm telling the truth?! That makes me a piece of shit?!"</p><p>"No!" Richie retorts. "Because you'd rather be miserable with the way things are than give a shit about any of us. Who are you scared will see us all hanging out together? Your mommy?"</p><p>"Don't be a hypocrite, Richie!" Stan cuts in. "You'd never walk down the hall with Eddie. You'd be fucking terrified of what people would say about the two of you. Don't deny it."</p><p>"Since when do you care what I think or do?" Richie hisses. "I'm not good for anything except pissing people off." Stan's self-righteousness evaporates; Richie can tell, but he doesn't relent. "If I disappeared forever, we'd all be better off. I may as well not even exist at this school. Remember all that, Stanny boy? Because I sure fucking do."</p><p>"H-He didn't m-mean it that w-way..." Bill mumbles.</p><p>"Then how did he mean it?" Richie snaps. He doesn't wait for an answer; he fixates back on Eddie. "And you never have to worry about walking down the hall with me, Eds. I don't need you to condescend to speak to me in public, and I don't give two shits to deal with your crazy ass."</p><p>"Shut up," Eddie gasps.</p><p>"So you go ahead and stick with what you know! Pop your Valium and hoard your Vicodin!" </p><p>"Shut up!" Eddie repeats, louder this time.</p><p>"Stick your head in the sand and wait around for your fat, psychotic, bitch of a mom to drop dead!"</p><p>"SHUT UP!" Eddie kicks at Richie's legs with all the fury he can muster. He sobs uncontrollably and a devastated flush spreads from his ears down to his chin. "I hate you so fucking much!"</p><p>Richie's façade cracks; his eyes widen in a way that implores Eddie to recant, to reveal some sign that his rage is fleeting, temporary, giving way to forgiveness he's consistently offered after their obligatory spat of the hour.</p><p>When Eddie's expression remains etched on his face, Richie doubles down on his anger. "Good!"</p><p>A cease-fire of sorts engulfs the group. Several minutes tick by and the only sounds within the circle are Eddie's gradually calming cries and Richie's labored breaths.</p><p>"God, is this who we are?" Stan shatters the silence. "Are we going to be this miserable and angry forever?"</p><p>"Not me," Beverly says with overwhelming conviction. "I'm done letting this be me."</p><p>"But it's inevitable," Ben mutters.</p><p>"W-What?" Bill asks.</p><p>Ben's eyes dance around the circle. "When you grow up, your heart dies."</p><p>"Who gives a fuck?" Richie rolls his eyes.</p><p>"I do!" Ben says; he chokes on his words. "We all do. If we didn't, we wouldn't be sitting here like this."</p><p>"It's not inevitable," Beverly says. "You just can't let yourself forget."</p><p>Bill swallows the lump in his throat, "I w-won't forget."</p><p>"Neither will I," is Mike's promise.</p><p>Feeling safe again, Ben turns his head up. "I eat lunch right there every day," he points to the front of the library, at the table he'd claimed this morning. "You guys can come sit with me whenever you want. I wouldn't pretend I don't know you or send you away. No matter what happens to us next week, all of you guys are my friends."</p><p>"Tell you what," Beverly says. "I'll eat with you on Monday, right here."</p><p>"So w-will I," Bill smiles.</p><p>"Anything beats hiding under the stairwell," Mike jokes.</p><p>Stan flummoxes them by nodding, "I'll be there. I promise." </p><p>"Library's not the best place to practice my stand-up," Richie snickers. When the others look at him, he smirks and shrugs. "But throw in one of Mike's sandwiches and Benny's cookies and I'll make an appearance."</p><p>As soon as the words are past Richie's mouth, Eddie blurts out, "I'll come too, I mean, if you guys want."</p><p>"Of course we do," Beverly assures him. "We wouldn't be the Losers Club without you."</p><p>"T-That what we're calling ourselves n-now?" Bill asks teasingly.</p><p>"The shoe fits," Mike jests. "And it has a pretty nice ring to it. Like it's our own thing, just for us."</p><p>"I guess it's o-official," Bill nods. </p><p>"Mike," Ben says. Mike raises his eyebrows. "Earlier, you said we were all meant to be here. You were right."</p><p>"Way to keep it cheesy, Ben from Sosh!" Beverly wraps an arm around Ben's neck and twists her knuckles against his scalp.</p><p>That's when a sudden realization hits Bill right in his face. Curiously, he turns to Richie. "H-Hey." The trashmouth 'hmms?' in response. "You never told us w-what you d-did to get in h-here."</p><p>A series of "oh yeah's" bounce off the walls.</p><p>"Oh..." Richie runs a hand through his wild hair. The others lean forward, excitedly anticipating an exaggerated tale of a practical joke gone wrong. Richie notices the unintentional pressure they've put on him, and he hits the tip of his nose with his finger smugly. A beat passes, and then, through prideful chuckles, Richie says, "nothing. I didn't have anything better to do." </p><p>The losers all bust into untamable laughter.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>At three-thirty, Bill flips on the radio in the librarian's office. He turns the knob, and <em><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeMHC7Ih8wg">"We Are Not Alone"</a> </em>by Karla Devito blares through the library.</p><p>They're a group of shamelessly horrible dancers.</p><p>Stan sheds his cardigan and gives a recreation of the Thriller choreography his best effort. Richie slides onto his knees, mimicking an electric guitar solo. Bill twirls around the library, throwing around his lanky arms with no rhyme or reason. Mike leans over the railing of the staircase, pounding his fist and headbanging. Ben hops in place, sticking out his index and pinky fingers and throwing his tongue out.</p><p>Beverly and, surprisingly, Eddie are the only two with a sense of rhythm. Beverly slides smoothly on her feet and claps her hands over her head with every beat of the drum. Eddie hops onto his table and sways his hips; he's able to time each spin on his heels to every gruff note Karla Devito hits.</p><p>Eventually, Richie joins Eddie on the table, and they shimmy back and forth. Eddie laughs when Richie grabs his hand and twirls him under his arm. </p><p>Bill and Ben file behind Mike on the stairs and the trio step up and down the stairs in synchronization, swinging the opposite arm of their step.</p><p>Beverly and Stan dance back to back, plugging their noses and doing the scuba diver.</p><p>They dance until they're sweaty and short of breath, until their hearts pound, and their legs can't carry them another step. They end up sprawled on the floor in front of their tables. Richie and Eddie lie perpendicular, Eddie's head on Richie's chest. Beverly's fiddling with Ben's wet hair. Mike's acquired Stan's cardigan and uses it to cushion his head. Bill and Stan are playfully critiquing each other's terrible dancing.</p><p>For fifteen minutes, the Losers Club lose themselves in their bliss.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>When the clock strikes three-forty-five, it's time for Richie to sneak back to the closet.</p><p>He exchanges overdramatic farewells with the group; he pretends as if he's off to war, like he won't be reunited with them in a brief half-hour. He and Eddie shy around saying goodbye, Eddie hugging his arm to his torso, and Richie rubbing the back of his neck nervously.</p><p>Mike has to lift him back up into the ceiling hole, but once Richie is able to pull himself in, he crawls off.</p><p>The remaining six congregate on the checkout desk, sitting in a horizontal line, staring ahead at the prison they've turned into their safe haven.</p><p>"Oh shit!" Stan's eyes widen in horror. "The essay!"</p><p>"Calm down, sissy," Beverly chuckles; she slaps his shoulder. "Gray's handed out that essay to Mike and me tons of times; he doesn't give two shits if we write it. If you write him something, he thinks it's hilarious to throw it out in front of you right after you hand it to him."</p><p>Mike leans forward so he and Stan can make eye contact. "Seriously, I promise."</p><p>"Still," Ben chews on his lip. "Maybe we should write something?"</p><p>When Beverly raises a skeptical eyebrow, Ben clarifies, "not for him. For us, y'know?"</p><p>Bill nods. "Y-Yeah, one essay from a-all of us."</p><p>"Fine," Stan says. "But who's writing it?"</p><p>The six of them exchange glances, mere seconds away from tapping their noses to decide who inherits the assignment. Before a petty game of nose goes can begin, Eddie says, "I think Bill should write it."</p><p>Mike shoves Eddie's shoulder playfully. "You just want to get out of writing your paper."</p><p>"Well, yeah," Eddie shrugs. "But Bill's our leader, right? Doesn't that make him, like, the best person to write it?"</p><p>Beverly says "Eddie's right" just as Bill groans.</p><p>"You g-guys made me the l-leader!" he sighs. "I didn't k-know I'd have to do so much w-work."</p><p>"We picked you for a reason," Ben tells him. "You got us back to the library, you helped us all open up — we trust you." Bill watches them nod down the line: Stan, Beverly, Ben, Mike, Eddie. "You'll know exactly what to say," Ben simpers.</p><p>All it takes is a couple of seconds to prove Ben's right. Bill's eyes hop around the ceiling as he inaudibly whispers to himself. "O-Okay," he says at last. "I've g-got it." He slides off the checkout desk, grabs a pen and a piece of paper, and hovers over his table as he prints their essay. </p><p>It's short, only a few lines. Bill's penmanship is chicken scratch, but when he holds out the paper for the others to read, they're able to decipher it. One by one, they smile in satisfaction. "Everybody s-sign it," Bill orders.</p><p>They pass the pen down the line; once it reaches Eddie, Bill clears his throat. "R-Richie would want y-you to sign for h-him." Eddie nods and signs both their names.</p><p>Their essay finished and on the front table for Principal Gray, Mike, with legs full of cement, hops off the desk and holds out his hand for Beverly to take. "Come on," he helps her off the checkout desk. "Time to go pick up our mess."</p><p>Beverly makes a bigger scene of her reluctance. "You never let me get out of this," she moans.</p><p>"Nope," Mike replies smugly. He drags her off, and they busy themselves picking up books, torn pages, debris, and every other mess scattered around the library Gray could use as an excuse to torture them all further.</p><p>Stan turns to study Ben. It's not long before Ben feels eyes on him; when he turns to catch Stan staring at him, Ben nervously chuckles, "what?"</p><p>With a teasing roll of his neck, Stan grabs Ben's hand. "Come on." He leads Ben off to their tables, ignoring every question Ben asks along the way.</p><p>Abruptly, Stan snags Ben's backpack out of his chair and holds it in front of him. "Pull out that poem you were writing."</p><p>"What?" Ben asks panicked. "I have no idea what you're—"</p><p>"We have thirty minutes left in here," Stan explains. "You've had all day to say something to Bev, and now's your chance." Ben's eyes stretch wide. "The poem's about her, right?" Ben crumbles under Stan's knowing stare; feeling no hope in lying, Ben hesitantly nods. "So go give it to her already."</p><p>"No," Ben says dejectedly. "She'll just laugh at me."</p><p>"What makes you say that?" Stan asks. "You're sweet, you're outgoing, you're the only one who saw her when the rest of us were judging her." Ben's lacking confidence doesn't permit him to believe Stan, but he doesn't verbally disagree. "She noticed that. She likes you too."</p><p>"You really think so?"</p><p>Stan answers by digging his hand into Ben's bag and pulling out the crumpled ball of paper. He shoves it into Ben's palm and waves his hand dismissively. "Go!"</p><p>Ben unfolds the paper, looks down at his wrinkled words, then begins to walk away. He makes it a few steps, but stops, and turns to look at Stan again. Endearingly impatient, Stan taps his foot. "You'll think me later," he promises.</p><p>Ben takes hold of his nerve, puts on a brave face, and saunters off in Beverly's direction.  </p><p>Stan glances over his shoulder. Bill is sitting at his table smirking. "What?" Stan asks as he approaches. "Someone had to help Ben find his balls."</p><p>"And t-that someone i-is you?" Bill wonders puckishly.</p><p>"You helped me find mine," Stan replies. "Just paying it forward."</p><p>"Y-Your balls w-were inside you a-all along," Bill laughs.</p><p>"Poetic," Stan quips. "You could give Ben a run for his — wait." Stan surveys the library. "Where'd Eddie go?"</p><p>Bill joins him in his search. Luckily, the mystery solves itself. The sound of the library door clicking shut hits their ears. The boys exchange knowing grins. "Called it," Stan says. "What do I win?" </p><p>Bill scoffs and crosses his arms stubbornly. "We bet on w-when, not i-if."</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Beverly is hunched over scooping torn pages of <em>Huck Finn</em> into her bag when Ben tentatively approaches. When he enters her peripheral, Beverly straightens her posture and offers him a sideways smirk. "Any chance I can pawn this work off on you?" she asks. "Mike never lets me leave until we've cleaned the library." She furrows her brows in feigned irritation.</p><p>"Yeah, uh, sure," Ben sputters. </p><p>They both lean down and begin collecting all the garbage they can reach. Ben holds his pile between his arm and his ribs, while Beverly continues to store it all in her bag. It doesn't take them long to clear the floor of clutter.</p><p>Eventually, only a single page of <em>Jane Eyre </em>is left on the floor. Ben and Beverly reach for it at the same time. Their hands brush and Ben's heart beats rapidly as he absorbs the sensation of her soft touch. Her fingers are smooth and warm, a far cry from his chubby, damp palm. It feels like their hands linger together for a stretch of time, but, when they both awkwardly pull away, Ben assures himself the touch lasted a split second.</p><p>In truth, the reality lies somewhere in the middle. </p><p>"Uh, don't worry, I've got that," he mumbles, snatching the discarded page.</p><p>They stand, and, for the second time today, Ben notices Beverly stretches nearly a head taller than him. "Something on your mind, Ben from Sosh?"</p><p>"No!" he replies before the words have fully left her mouth. Any bravery he'd worked up on the way here dissipates, and he curses himself under his breath. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bug you, I'll just go back and wait."</p><p>Ben pivots, leaving Beverly to stare at his back. She watches him take a step, then two. The only boy who gave her a chance, who saw through her apathetic act but waited for her to release it on her own. It's at this moment that she realizes she wants him close. He'd been close all day, but the thought of him being far, the fear that he'll be far once they leave this library, well...</p><p>She doesn't like it.</p><p>"Hey," she calls after him. Ben turns around. "Keep me company?" He smiles meekly and returns. </p><p>"It's been a day, huh?" she asks. She moves to a trashcan against the wall and tips her bag at a 45-degree angle. Most of the junk she'd stockpiled off the floor pours out, and Ben notices how she's careful to keep anything she deems valuable secure in her bag.</p><p>"Yeah," Ben sighs. "It feels like it's been forever and a minute all at once, y'know?" </p><p>"More like a minute to me," Beverly replies. "Is it bad that I'm bummed it's ending?"</p><p>Ben shakes his head. "I don't think so. I just want..." he trails off, staring down at the paper in his hand.</p><p>"Want to what?" Beverly raises her eyebrows.</p><p>Ben imagines himself standing at a great precipice. It's tempting to fall backward, to escape the waves crashing into rocks below. Yet, the water looks warm and refreshing. Regardless of which route he takes, Ben finally accepts he can't stand still and wait. Not anymore.</p><p>"I didn't want the day to end before I gave this to you," he says at last. He holds out the paper with a clunky arm.</p><p>Beverly eyes him with lighthearted suspicion. "Okay..." She takes the creased paper, lifts it in front of her eyes, and reads.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>your hair is winter fire,</strong> </em><br/>
<em> <strong>January embers</strong> </em><br/>
<em> <strong>my heart burns there too</strong> </em>
</p><p>Ben watches petrified as Beverly reads the haiku a second time. He runs his fingers alongside each other to occupy his shaking hands. Her crystal blue eyes jump to the top of the page for the third time, and Ben begins to fall apart. He considers snatching the paper out of her hand, playing it off as a joke, retreating back into the status quo, and then...</p><p>"Did you write this for me?" Thunderstruck, Ben nods. A faint blush spreads across her cheeks. "No one's ever done something like this for me."</p><p>"Really?" Ben catechizes.</p><p>Beverly giggles cynically. "No one's really in line to write me poems."</p><p>"Well, uh, I have more," Ben says.</p><p>"Are you serious?" It's hard for Ben to tell if he's being mocked; he takes her dropped jaw at face value, and so he nods with some surety. "Are those what you've been writing all day?"</p><p>"Not exactly," Ben laughs nervously. "I've been writing them all year."</p><p>"Ben, what the fuck? How come you never said anything?"</p><p>"I just thought you never noticed me; I didn't want you to think I was a creep."</p><p>With soft eyes, Beverly sighs, "of course I noticed you. Most people don't want anything to do with me, so I just keep to myself."</p><p>"So I thought you didn't know who I am, and you thought I'd write you off?" Ben clarifies. When Beverly nods, the two share an embarrassed laugh. "Is that poetic or ironic?"</p><p>"Both," Beverly grins. She sneaks a glance down at the poem. "Can I...keep this?"</p><p>"What? You seriously want it?"</p><p>"Here," Beverly leans down, "I'll trade you for it." She places a kiss on his scarlet cheek, prompting a gasp from his lips. Pulling away, Beverly shrugs, "what do you think? Even Steven?"</p><p>It takes a few moments for Ben to remember how to nod. "D-Definitely!" he stutters with a megawatt smile. Feeling bold, Ben twiddles his thumbs. "Would you maybe want to get some ice cream later?" When Beverly doesn't answer immediately, Ben panics. "Or not, we don't have to!"</p><p>Beverly laughs. "Calm down, I'd love to. You're going to show me a few more of your poems, right?"</p><p>"Yeah, sure!"</p><p>"Good," Beverly's lips quirk. "Come on," she intertwines their hands. "I've got more shit to clean up." </p><p>Ben allows her to lead him. He makes a mental note to thank Stan.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Somehow, Richie managed to forget how cramped the storage closet was. With few outlets, the air is heavy and humid. The events of the day have his bangs glued to his forehead by sweat. He runs a hand under his hair several times in an effort to separate them. He's half-successful.</p><p>Shortly after Richie settles back in the spot Gray left him in, the doorknob rattles. Expecting to see the school administrator from hell, Richie straightens his spine and braces himself for a new onslaught of emotional abuse.</p><p>The knob turns, and the door slides open just a crack. To Richie's surprise, Eddie slips in through the gap; he gently leans his back against the door until the click of it shutting brushes against Richie's ears. The dangling lightbulb in the center of the closet is hardly a satisfactory source of light, but Richie can still make out the nervous smile that stretches up into the freckles on Eddie's cheeks.</p><p>"You lost?" Richie asks, brandishing his own anxious smile to match. Eddie shakes his head no and slides down the wall opposite Richie.</p><p>Eddie straightens his legs but keeps them together; Richie spreads his, feet resting on the wall on either side of Eddie.</p><p>For a minute, they wordlessly stare at each other.</p><p>Eddie breaks the ice with a hesitant cough. "Can I ask you something?" Before Richie can answer, Eddie abruptly adds, "and you've gotta be honest!"</p><p>Doubt and anticipation mix on Richie's features. "Fire away, Eduardo."</p><p>"Do you really not give two shits about me?"</p><p>"You want the truth?" Richie asks. Eddie nods fearfully. Richie lets out a condescending laugh. "I give all the shits about you, Eds. Every single shit."</p><p>Eddie replies "gross," but a red hue beneath his freckles betrays him. Richie commits the sight to memory.</p><p>"My turn," Richie says. Eddie raises his brows. Adjusting his glasses, Richie asks, "do you really hate me?"</p><p>Eddie answers by sitting on his knees and scooting closer. Neither of them is sure where his bravery comes from, but Eddie doesn't stop until the distance between them is practically nonexistent. They feel each other's breath, hear the pounding of their hearts, see the speckles in each other's eyes. Finally, Eddie whispers, "I want to hate you, but—"</p><p>"I get it," Richie grumbles, tearing his eyes away.</p><p>Eddie drinks in every pore of Richie's skin, his plump lower lip, his smudged glasses, his messy hair. Slow and deliberate, Eddie places his left hand on Richie's cheek and turns his gaze back up to meet his. "No, you don't," Eddie insists, argumentative as usual, but soft in a way that forces Richie to catch his breath. "Richie..."</p><p>Richie's throat is nearly too dry for him to speak. After a moment, he drags out a shy, "what?"</p><p>"You know that I..." Eddie doesn't finish. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips on Richie's.</p><p>The kiss is gentle, chaste, and hesitant, but bold and sure. Above all else, it feels <em>right</em>.</p><p>Just as quick as it begins, it ends, with Eddie reluctantly pulling off, a tiny <em>pop</em> floating in the closet's air.</p><p>Eddie gazes into Richie's awestruck eyes. He finds himself at a loss for words; instead, he waits for Richie. Eddie isn't sure what to expect, but Richie's blunt, "why did you do that?" fits somewhere on the spectrum of realism and hope.</p><p>All Eddie can do is shrug. "I was tired of waiting for you to do it."</p><p>Interpreting those words as a challenge, Richie bravely places his hand on the back of Eddie's head and brings their lips together again. Their second kiss brings a little more heat; Eddie's hands fall to Richie's chest and he balls the collar of Richie's Hawaiian shirt in his fists. When Richie's lips graze off Eddie's, the latter whines at the loss, though his breath hitches in unexplored pleasure when Richie peppers kisses along his jawline.</p><p>When Eddie applies force to Richie's chest to push him off, Richie looks at him unsure. "Was that...okay?"</p><p>"More than okay," Eddie nods with short breaths. They gaze at each other's swollen lips. "I just..."</p><p>"Don't know what this makes you?" Richie guesses. Eddie nods again. He considers it too, he considers it for both of them; for the first time in his life, Richie decides he doesn't care <em>what</em> he is. All he knows is he likes the way this feels. And so he lifts his shoulders nonchalantly. "Why do we have to be anything? Let's just be us." </p><p>"Not like it's anybody's business or anything," Eddie nods in agreement.</p><p>"No one's?" Richie raises an eyebrow. "Not even your—"</p><p>Eddie shuts him up with another kiss. It's intense, a culmination of want, tension, repression, and everything in between. Eddie's lips part and Richie's tongue slips inside. A few moments pass and Richie realizes his hand is running along the hot skin of Eddie's side; at some point during the kiss, Eddie had grabbed Richie's wrist and guided his hand under his pullover. </p><p>"Had no idea you'd be this frisky, Eds," Richie chuckles over the boy's lips.</p><p>Eddie narrows his eyes playfully. "Shut the fuck up, Richie," he sighs into a whimper.</p><p>For once, Richie obliges.</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>At four-fifteen, they all stand on the front steps of Derry High.</p><p>Beverly and Ben are holding hands; Richie congratulates Ben with a slap on his back and warns Beverly not to hurt his boy.</p><p>Eddie is twiddling his thumbs; there's no ambiguity surrounding his disheveled pullover and bruised neck. Though he recognizes the transparency of his current state, shame is the last thing he feels.</p><p>Stan's cardigan is wrapped around his arm and he's undone the top buttons of his shirt lazily.</p><p>Bill is carrying his paper boat. Mike sticks a piece of paper in his pocket; the rest of the groups' home phone numbers are scribbled on it.</p><p>A line of cars sits in the parking lot in front of them. The first is a van; its driver begins to honk the horn insistently. With a shrug, Stan turns to the others. "That's my dad." He offers them a shy wave and starts down the steps.</p><p>"W-Wait!" Bill calls out. Stan stops and looks over his shoulder. "You s-still owe me f-five dollars."</p><p>Stan laughs through his nose. "I swear to god, Bill."</p><p>Stan hops into the front seat of his dad's van, and he's gone.</p><p>The next car is a tan sedan. Eddie turns to Richie. "Hey, Rich." Richie raises an eyebrow. Eddie subtly drops something in Richie's palm and closes Richie's fingers around it. "I lost my inhaler earlier; if you find it, maybe you could come by and drop it off?" Richie runs his fingers along the object hidden in his palm: Eddie's inhaler.</p><p>"I'll search high and low, Eds," he winks.</p><p>Eddie makes his way to his mother's car, pausing at the last second to wave at the others. Richie adjusts his glasses one final time and watches the sedan speed away.</p><p>Pulling up to take the sedan's spot is a dark blue BMW. Richie lets out an impressed whistle, "Miss Denbrough rides in style these days, huh?"</p><p>Bill nods embarrassed. "S-See you guys," he says.</p><p>Feeling brave one last time today, Richie holds out an arm, "hey Billy?" Bill cocks his head to the side. "Think I could catch a ride?"</p><p>Much to Richie's surprise, Bill takes no time at all to decide. "Y-Yeah, come on."</p><p>Richie bids the remaining three ado theatrically before hopping into the backseat of the BMW with Bill. </p><p>Another van approaches with its windows down. A cheery woman sits in the driver's seat, and she waves at Ben enthusiastically. "That's my mom," he says to no one in particular.</p><p>"Tonight for ice cream, still?" Beverly asks. With a bright smile, Ben mhm's. Beverly smirks, leans down, and pecks Ben on his lips. "See you then, Shakespeare." Ben scurries down the steps and slides into the passenger seat of his mom's van.</p><p>Beverly and Mike remain; there are no cars left in the parking lot.</p><p>The two stroll down the steps to the bike rack. Beverly puts on her sunglasses "So Mike, same time next week?"</p><p>Mike shrugs. "Wouldn't have it any other way."</p><p>The two share a laugh before riding off in opposite directions.</p><p>Reveling in her freedom, Beverly coasts around town, going anywhere but home. Under the warm, spring sun, she pumps her fist into the air. </p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>On the front left table of the library sits a single piece of paper. Principal Gray stares down at it, defeated.</p><p><em>We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong. </em> <em>But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are.</em></p><p>
  <em>You see us as you want to see us — in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But what we found out is that each one of us is</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A neurotic," says Ben.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A momma's boy," says Richie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A new kid," says Beverly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A wallflower," says Mike.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"An outsider," says Stan.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"A trashmouth," says Eddie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"And a slut," says Bill.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Does that answer your question?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely yours,</em><br/>
<em>The Losers Club</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>* * *</strong>
</p><p>Monday comes. Seven losers, with everything in common, find each other.</p><p>The library becomes summer. The arcade. The woods. A secret clubhouse. And the lake by the quarry.</p><p>They become each other. They never forget. Their hearts never die.</p><p>
  <em>Welcome to the Losers Club.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shoutouts to Alley and Nikki for putting up with me while I wrote this, Josie for conceptualizing this idea with me, and Ellie for giving me the courage to finally hit post.</p><p>Thank you so much for reading! I'll shoot my fist in the air in your honor.</p><p>Wanna chill on Tumblr? You can find me @avpaladin</p></blockquote></div></div>
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